


The Guardianship of Yoon Sanha

by LulaWrites



Category: ASTRO (Band), GOT7, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bakery and Coffee Shop, But mostly fluff, Eomma Eunwoo, Fluff and Angst, Good bro Moonbin, Hoseok and MJ are sunshine BFFs, Hurt/Comfort, JinJin makes sure he gets one, M/M, Protective Hyungs, Protective Jinwoo, Protective MJ, Protectiveness, Rocky is a sweetheart, Team as Family, Yoon Sanha needs a hug, kpop cameos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-02-11 14:26:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12937191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaWrites/pseuds/LulaWrites
Summary: Jinwoo feels his heart seize up in his chest as his mouth goes dry, fearful of the direction the conversation seems to be headed in. “Where are you?” he presses, low and urgent. “Are you someplace safe?”Sanha pauses, and in the moment of silence that follows JinJin can vaguely make out what sounds like the distant echo of a female voice in the background. “Hyung, I…" The teenager swallows audibly. "I did something stupid.”(Or the AU in which seventeen-year-old Sanha runs away from home in the middle of the night, and JinJin is faced with the sobering prospect of becoming his cousin's legal guardian at the tender age of twenty-two. Thankfully, he won't be doing it alone.)





	1. Runaway

.

A harsh, persistent buzzing sound yanks Jinwoo from the warm embrace of a dreamless sleep.

He startles a little at the rude awakening, sucking in a sharp breath and propping himself up on an elbow to squint towards the bedside table where his cell phone is vibrating against the polished wood in angry, rhythmic pulses, the screen lit up far too brightly for his overtired eyes.

“JinJiiiin,” MJ groans beside him, voice sleep-roughened, rolling over to throw an arm across the younger man’s waist beneath the bedcovers. “Ignore it an’ go back t’sleep. S’too early.”

His boyfriend has a point – according to the glowing red numbers on his bedside clock, it’s only 4:30am. Their alarm’s not even due to go off for another two hours yet. _Ugh,_ no wonder his eyes feel glued shut. It takes a moment for Jinwoo to be able to focus his blurry vision enough to read the caller ID, blinking hard in the darkness of the bedroom to draw himself further out of his semi-doze.

 

_...Incoming Call..._

_Captain Ddana_

 

Something lurches uncomfortably in his chest, something that feels a whole lot like _fear,_ and suddenly Jinwoo is very much awake.

Why would Sanha need to call him at 4:30am on a Saturday? His seventeen-year-old cousin shouldn’t even be _awake_ at this hour, especially since the kid’s boarding school has strict rules in place about students staying in their dorms between the hours of midnight and 6am (something that Sanha, as an avid online gamer, whines about to Jinwoo at least once a week because the wifi reception in his room is apparently substandard). It isn’t unusual for them to chat to each other at the weekend, but typically it’s late afternoon or early evening - never at the screech of dawn like this.

He reaches for the device, pushing himself upright in bed and swinging his legs over the side of the mattress, ignoring MJ’s sleepy whine of protest from behind him as he presses the phone to his ear.

“Sanha, hey,” he says, his voice hoarse from lack of use. “Is everything alright?”

There’s a short beat of silence on the other end of the line before he hears it – a quiet sniffle and muffled, hitching little breath. Jinwoo feels the knot of unease in his chest twist tighter, fingers clenching around the phone’s plastic case hard enough to make it creak.

“Ddana?” he murmurs, reverting to the old childhood nickname in an effort to coax a verbal response out of the youth. To his relief, it works.

_“Hyung…”_

The kid’s been crying, that much is immediately obvious. Jinwoo can count on one hand the number of occasions when he’s seen Sanha cry over the years (that one time when he was six and he fell out of a tree in JinJin’s backyard; the morning of his mother’s funeral; the day JinJin left for university) and he knows something _significantly_ bad must have happened for the teenager to have broken down and called him at stupid-o’clock in the morning.  

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Jinwoo asks, making an effort to keep his voice calm and soothing, to keep a tight lid on the fountain of worry that’s bubbling up inside of him. “Did something happen at school?”

 _“N-no, it's not that. School’s fine.”_ Another quiet little sniff. _“Term ended yesterday, an’ my dad sent a driver to pick me up, so I came home. Everything seemed okay at first, so I thought maybe the school holidays wouldn’t be so bad after all, but then he started drinking again. I guess…I guess he's been doing that a lot lately.”_

Jinwoo feels his heart seize up in his chest, his mouth going dry, fearful of where the conversation seems to be headed.

 _“I hadn’t realised things had gotten so bad while I was away,”_ Sanha’s voice filters through the phone, hoarse and uneven. _“It’s been so long since I was home, an’ he promised me he’d quit drinking after what happened last time, but now it’s even **worse** than before. Last night he just got so angry, hyung, I thought he might…I thought he was going to-”_

The teenager cuts off abruptly as his voice becomes choked and thick with tears. Jinwoo feels his own eyes burn in sympathy, even as his blood begins to boil at the picture Sanha’s words are painting all too vividly in his mind.

“Where are you?” Jinwoo presses, low and urgent. “Are you someplace safe?”

The youth pauses, and in the moment of silence that follows JinJin can hear what sounds like the distant echo of a female voice in the background, although it's too garbled to make it. _“Hyung, I…I did something stupid.”_

That’s about the scariest sentence Jinwoo’s heard from the kid so far (and if his stomach knots itself any further, he might actually throw up), but he doesn’t let it show, careful to keep his voice calm and controlled.

“That’s okay,” he murmurs. “We all do stupid things sometimes, it’ll be alright. Just tell me where you are, kiddo.”

Sanha hesitates only a few seconds longer before answering. _“I’m at the train station…”_

“In Pyeongchang-gun?” Jinwoo prompts cautiously

_“…in Seoul.”_

Jinwoo manages not to swear out loud, but it’s a close thing (and the stream of curses running through his head would have his mother reaching for the soap in a heartbeat). Instead, he throws the bedcovers back and rolls to his feet, almost tripping over his slippers in the dark before fumbling to switch on the bedside lamp to avoid any further accidents.

 _“I’m really sorry, hyung,”_ Sanha’s rambling in his ear, meek and apologetic. _“I know I should’ve called and asked you first, but I just needed to get away from Dad, and you said I was always welcome to stay over at your place if I wanted to, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go-”_

“Sanha, it’s fine,” JinJin reassures the teen, holding the phone between shoulder and ear as he grabs a pair of jeans from his dresser and quickly yanks them on, hopping on one foot to wriggle them past his butt. “Of course you can stay over, we're family. Just sit tight, okay? I’m coming to get you.”

 _“You don’t have to,”_ Sanha tries to argue, although he sounds timid and young and thoroughly _overwhelmed,_ and Jinwoo’s heart it seriously going to break any fucking second now. _“It’s late, I can get a cab or something.”_

“No,” the elder answers quickly, catching the phone as it slips a little to press it back against his ear, and reiterating, “No, bud, I need you to stay exactly where you are. I don’t want you getting lost.”

It’s bad enough that the teenager’s run away from home in the middle of the night and taken a three-hour train journey from his hometown to Seoul all on his own. JinJin’s not about to let him get into a car with a stranger at half-four in the morning; God only knows where he might end up.

“Stay in the waiting room near the main entrance,” he continues, glancing around for his jacket and spotting it draped over the back of his desk-chair (where MJ had thrown it last night after coaxing JinJin away from his studying with a devilish little smile). “There’s always a security guard stationed near there, it’ll be a whole lot safer than sitting on the platforms by yourself at this time of night. I’ll be there in twenty minutes, okay?”

He waits until Sanha’s given a murmur of acknowledgement before saying goodbye and hanging up, zipping up his hooded jacket quickly and turning towards the door, pausing only when gentle fingers curl around his wrist to halt his departure.

“JinJin?” It’s MJ, clearly still half-asleep, but his weary expression full of quiet concern as he steps up behind the younger man. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to Sanha? Where are you going?”

Sighing, Jinwoo drags a hand through his rumpled hair. “I’m going to the train station. Sanha, he…he’s run away from home.”

“What?” MJ’s eyes widen, his fingers tightening around JinJin’s wrist. “Why?”

Myungjun’s concern is understandable. He and Jinwoo have been best friends for years now, long before platonic love and affection blossomed into something else and they suddenly became _more_ ; and although the elder of the two had been in the year above him at school, they’d spent most of their free time together growing up, which had meant that babysitting Sanha had been as much a part of MJ’s teenage years as it had Jinwoo’s. Neither of them had minded it much – Sanha had been an easy kid to look after (although _super_ energetic, at times), sweet and well-mannered and eager to please. Despite being six years the boy’s senior, Myungjun had found a kindred spirit in the kid, someone who could match the elder’s endless enthusiasm for life seemingly without any effort on his part, and although Sanha’s mother had paid them both well for the summer afternoons they’d spent keeping the boy entertained, JinJin’s pretty sure MJ would’ve tagged along even without that monetary incentive just to have someone to build pillow forts and play Avengers with.

But there are things that Myungjun _doesn’t_ know. Secrets that Sanha had confessed to Jinwoo on the condition that he never, ever tell anyone else about it, _ever._ So MJ doesn’t know the real reason why Jinwoo’s uncle had sent Sanha away to boarding school two years ago, or why the teenager only ever visits home when the school closes for the holidays, or why he spends most of his vacation time in band camps or at Seoul Music Academy’s summer programme instead of with his father.

“It’s a long story,” is what he settles on, wincing in apology for the not-answer. “And it isn’t mine to tell. Look, I’m sorry, I know this is sudden, but I just…I need you _not_ to ask him about it when we get back, okay? The kid’s been through a lot, I don’t want to push him.”

Myungjun’s lips tighten, but it’s the  _Worried Face Of Agreement_ (his boyfriend is very expressive, so JinJin has taken to labelling his most recognisable expressions for ease of interpretation), and Jinwoo feels himself relaxing at MJ’s easy acceptance of the situation. There’s a reason they’re BFFs.

“I’ll make up the couch,” the brunette tells him, all traces of his previous fatigue gone. “Sanha still likes Marvel, right? I’m sure I’ve got that Iron Man quilt stored at the back of the linen closet...”

With a renewed wave of affection for the wonderful human being that is somehow his boyfriend, JinJin leans in quickly to press a lingering, grateful kiss to the elder’s lips.

“Thank you, I love you, you’re the best,” he breathes, and kisses him again. "I need to go. Don’t bother waking the others; I’ll explain the situation to them after breakfast.”

He doubts Moonbin and Dongmin will voice any complaints about having acquired an extra flatmate overnight – technically the apartment belongs to Jinwoo (it had been his older brother’s before Sejin moved to Busan last year), and although the other three all help chip in when it comes to paying the bills, it’s his name on the lease. That aside, Minhyuk usually ends up crashing on the couch at least once a fortnight whenever he gets too tired to go home after games-night, and since it's usually Bin's idea (the two have been friends for almost seven years now) he wouldn’t really be in any position to complain about the couch acquiring another teenage occupant temporarily. And Dongmin would immediately be in support of anybody in need sleeping on their couch, because he’s a remarkably generous human being whose heart is far too big for his own good.

“I’ll be back soon,” Jinwoo promises, brushing another kiss against the corner of MJ’s mouth before stepping away. “It won’t take me long to drive to the station and back.”

MJ points a finger at him, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “Don’t go breaking any speed limits.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” JinJin reassures, managing a brief flicker of a smile. “What do you take me for? I always drive safely.”

And he _does,_ thank you very much.

Although admittedly this morning, he only keeps to the recommended speed limit because he knows how extensively Dongmin (being their resident criminal law student and all-round Good Citizen) will lecture him about traffic violations and RTA statistics if he manages to earn himself a speeding fine.

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

The spacious waiting room at Seoul Station is almost completely empty at first glance.

On the far left there’s a handful of young men in business suits, leather briefcases tucked beneath their metal chairs and coffee cups cradled in their hands, heads bowed low in exhaustion – clearly waiting for an early commuter train to their respective workplaces. In the middle of the waiting room there are several rows of long metal benches rather than individual chairs, and one poor fellow seems to be passed out along one of them, laid on his front with his arm dangling down towards the floor – and judging by his designer outfit, he’s come straight from a late night out partying. Jinwoo doesn’t begrudge him the killer headache he’ll have when he finally wakes up.

And there, tucked away in the farthermost corner of the waiting room, long arms wrapped around the backpack in his lap and head lowered as though in sleep, is a very familiar figure. It’s been a few months since they last had a chance to meet in person (uni classes and dance practice and AstroCafé have kept him more than busy, and Sanha’s been focused on his studies as he finished up winter exams), but Jinwoo could never mistake those gangly legs and that pastel-pink hair for anyone else. Although the cute candy-floss colour is starting to fade now; Sanha’s hair more of a snowy white with the faintest thought of pink. Still, it’s easily recognisable, and in the company of sleep-deprived businessmen and the odd stray reveller, he sticks out like a sore thumb.

Jinwoo’s feet are carrying him across the room before his brain’s even fully registered the action. He comes to a stop in front of the teenager, reaching out slowly to settle a gentle hand on the youth’s shoulder.

“Sanha?”

The teen jerks at the contact with a sharp inhale, his head coming up quickly, eyes wide and startled as he stares back at the elder boy in silence for half a beat…

Long enough for Jinwoo to take in the large, painful-looking bruise swelling across his cheekbone an inch or so below his right eye. And there's more; an angry red graze along his temple, and a fresh-looking cut at the corner of his eyebrow on the opposite side of his face. _Aigoo,_ the kid looks like _shit._

“Hyung…”

Sanha’s expression crumples in what seems to be a combination of both relief and exhaustion, and JinJin’s already leaning down to wrap his arms around the teen in a tight hug when Sanha pushes his rucksack to the floor and throws his own arms around Jinwoo’s waist, hiding his face against the elder’s shoulder.

JinJin feels the skinny youth tremble in his hold, and tightens his grip in response. “You’re okay, bud,” he murmurs, fighting to speak past the aching lump in his own throat. “Everything’s going to be alright, I promise.”

It’s a steep promise to make, he knows that. He knows there’s a good chance everything _isn’t_ going to be alright, not for quite some time, especially if the marks on Sanha’s face are non-accidental like he suspects they are. Jinwoo’s never harboured much affection for his uncle (his behaviour towards Sanha since the death of his wife has been _appalling,_ and grief is a fucking terrible reason to ship your teenage son off to boarding school away from the rest of his friends and family), but if the man were standing in front of him right now, there’s a good chance fists would fly.

“Aish, you didn’t even bring a coat,” JinJin fusses, realising that the trembling probably isn’t just an emotional response, given the thin hoodie Sanha’s wearing. “It’s the middle of winter, stupid, what were you thinking? You’re gonna catch your death.”

He’s already pulling off his own coat when Sanha attempts to voice a protest, but Jinwoo ignores him with the practiced ease of someone who regularly used to block out his eight-year-old cousin’s adorable wheedling _(“but hyuuung, I’m not tired yet, why can’t I stay up with you an’ M-hyung?”)_.

Just like when he was eight, Sanha’s protests are in words alone, and a moment later he pliantly allows Jinwoo to wrap the coat around his shoulders and thread his arms through the sleeves.

“Is this everything?” Jinwoo asks, leaning down to pull the small duffel bag from beneath the row of chairs and slinging the strap of Sanha’s discarded rucksack over his shoulder.

“And my guitar,” the teenager supplies, nodding towards where the large carry-case is propped up against the wall nearby.

Jinwoo moves to take it, but Sanha jumps up to intercept him, holding the guitar case close like it’s something precious. “I’ve got it,” the youth reassures, ducking his eyes away from JinJin’s searching gaze. “Thanks, hyung.”

He doesn’t want to push it, even though Sanha looks too exhausted to walk far on his own at the moment (let alone carry a heavy musical instrument), but he does wrap his free arm around the younger man’s waist as a means of both comfort and support.

“C’mon, kiddo,” he murmurs, turning them towards the exit. “Let’s go home.”

 

.


	2. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dongmin gets an unusual early-morning visitor. Sanha and JinJin arrive home. There's cuddling.

.

 

Dongmin’s always been a light sleeper; all it usually takes is the angry rev of a car engine speeding along the road nearby, or a particularly enthusiastic bird chirping a morning song from the tree outside his window, and he’s pulled from peaceful dreams in an instant.

So when he wakes up with the room still dark and his alarm clock reading _04:45,_ he doesn’t think anything of it, and is perfectly willing to roll over and tuck himself up against Binnie’s warmth and go back to sleep again.

That is, until something in the darkness _speaks._

“Sorry. Did I wake you?”

Eyes opening again, he lifts his head from the pillow and squints towards the vague shadowy figure near the bedroom doorway, wondering whether he’s having some sort of unusually realistic dream. The voice had certainly _sounded_ like MJ’s, but for the man to be up this early is completely unheard of. Unless…

“What’s wrong?” he asks blearily, pushing himself up onto his elbow and fumbling in the dark for his phone to give them some light.

“Nothing!” MJ hastens to reassure him. “Everything’s fine. I just came to steal some pyjamas. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Uhh…” Maybe this _is_ just a weird dream after all. “No, not at all, help yourself. Second draw down.”

“Thanks, Dongu.”

Dongmin blinks in sleepy bemusement, watching as MJ’s shadow moves over to the dresser on the far side of the room and begins rummaging around in the second draw, taking out pairs of pyjama trousers and holding them up to his own body before shaking his head and putting them back.

“Hyung? I don’t know if any of those are going to fit you comfortably,” he hedges, trying to be delicate about it. “Maybe you should borrow something from JinJin-hyung?”

If he were Moonbin, he might’ve had the guts to put it more bluntly ( _“hyung, I love you, but you’re a foot shorter than me – this isn’t going to work”)_ but he values his life, and also there’s a chance MJ will stop treating him to ice cream after work if Dongmin pisses him off.

Thankfully, Myungjun doesn’t seem particularly offended.

“JinJin’s clothes are too short,” the elder answers distractedly, pulling another pair of trousers from the dresser. “You’re probably not quite tall enough either, but it’s the best we can do at such short notice… _hah!_ ‘Short notice’. Get it? Anyway, we can alwayss go shopping later on if we need to.”

Dongmin blinks a few more times, processing that sentence carefully. Maybe his groggy mind is playing tricks on him, but he’s ninety-nine percent sure MJ just told him he _wasn’t quite tall enough._ He’d be speechless, but there’s never been a time in Dongmin’s life when he hasn’t been able to think of _something_ to say.

“Remind me why we’re going shopping?”

“For tall-people clothes,” Myungjun tells him as though it’s obvious, holding up another pair of pyjamas to study them (although how he can see anything with the lights off if anyone’s guess). “Aha! These will do for now. Can I steal a shirt, too? Ooh, there’s one right here, perfect. Thanks, Dongu. Go back to sleep, okay?”

Utterly perplexed, but raised with good manners, Dongmin replies with a faint, “Goodnight, hyung”, before laying back down again to stare at the ceiling blankly.

_It’s gotta be some sort of art-related crisis. Maybe he needed the pyjamas for inspiration? Maybe he wants to paint a tall person? Aish, god knows._

Dongmin hears the bedroom door close quietly, and Moonbin (who has, up until this point, remained dead to the world and entirely undisturbed by their previous conversation, as per usual), stirs beneath the blankets to shift closer to him, curling an arm around Dongmin’s waist and tucking his face against the elder’s shoulder with a sleepy hum. He looks entirely too _cute._

He smiles, all thoughts of MJ’s bizarre behaviour fading to the very back of his mind as he turns carefully to face his boyfriend, shifting closer to tuck the younger man’s head beneath his chin, Moonbin’s soft hair brushing against his throat, his warm breath tickling Dongmin’s collarbone. He wraps his arms around Binnie and closes his eyes again with a contented sigh, feeling the warm floatiness of fatigue rushing up meet him.

Dongmin’s always been a light sleeper, but thankfully, it never takes him long to drift back off to sleep again afterwards.

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

The kid doesn’t utter so much as a peep for the entire duration of the car ride home.

Jinwoo can’t help but feel unnerved by his younger cousin’s uncharacteristic silence. Sanha’s _never_ this quiet… _ever_. From the moment he was old enough to string two or three lisping words together, he’s always been something of a chatterbox. He’d dragged Jinwoo through the park by the hand on many a family outing during their childhood, narrating everything he saw and felt and thought, eager to share his excitement and wonder with those he cared about the most. Maybe it was his adorable enthusiasm for the world that made the kid’s endless chatter endearing, but JinJin can’t remember ever being bothered by it, even with the five-year age gap. Granted, there were plenty of other things that he _had_ found somewhat irritating; Sanha’s propensity for getting lost in public places in the blink of an eye being one of them, but only because it had made Jinwoo almost sick with worry every time it happened.

Sanha's good at that; making people worry about him.

It probably has something to do with his cute, squishable cheeks (still plump with youth, despite him being a _ridiculously tall_ beanpole nowadays), and those huge doe-eyes that give the teen a constant aura of vulnerability. Or maybe that’s just how JinJin sees him. It probably doesn’t help that he can still remember his cousin being an _actual_ baby; as this small, fragile bundle who’d been placed gently in five-year-old Jinwoo’s arms under his parent’s careful supervision. Sitting stiffly in the oversized armchair with that tiny, blanket-wrapped newborn infant, he hadn’t dared move for fear of dropping or unsettling his precious burden.

In retrospect, that moment had marked the beginning of what has since then become a twenty-two year period of constant worrying when it comes to his baby cousin’s wellbeing. Jinwoo had incorrectly assumed that those feelings would ease as Sanha grew up and gained independence (and became more aware of basic health and safety measures, like the importance of looking both ways before crossing the street). But no such luck.

God knows he’s _beyond_ worried right now.

“I hope you don’t mind camping out on the couch for a little while,” Jinwoo mentions, trying to keep up a steady stream of casual chatter to fill the heavy silence. “Binnie mostly sleeps in Dongmin’s room these days, but unfortunately his bedroom’s kinda turned into an overflow storeroom for all of MJ’s projects while the university renovates the art department over the holidays. We’ll see about moving it someplace else later on, but in the meantime, it’s a pretty comfy couch. And you look like you’re about ready to fall asleep sitting upright, so I figured you wouldn’t be too bothered. Yeah?”

The teenager nods tiredly, one hand coming up to rub at his eyes before the presence of his current injuries seems to make him rethink that move, and he settles for  twisting his fingers together in his lap instead. Jinwoo’s heart aches for him, but he ploughs on all the same, determined to help distract his cousin from darker thoughts.

“Just to pre-warn you, Binnie’s not much of a morning person,” the elder boy continues, turning to flash Sanha an easy grin as they slow to a stop at a set of traffic lights. “It takes a little while for him to wake up, so don’t freak out if you hear something break – _The Destroyer_ does his best work before breakfast. Usually he only trips over a couple of things on a good day, but try not to leave anything valuable lying around underfoot, just in case.”

Sanha sends him the faintest flicker of a smile (so small and short-lived that it’s hard to even call it that, compared to the kid’s usual cheerful grin) before dropping his gaze to his hands again.

The stoplight goes green, and as the car moves forward so does JinJin’s one-sided conversation. It’s a rambling monologue of mostly unrelated topics, but he doubts Sanha’s actually paying much attention to what he’s saying anyway. The kid looks ready to fall asleep with his eyes still open.

Sanha remains silent as the grave for the remainder of the journey, sitting still as a statue in the passenger seat as Jinwoo parks the car in the underground lot of their apartment building. After a moment of stillness, he reaches across to gently squeeze the teenager’s knee, jumping a little himself when Sanha startles at the contact.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, heart hammering against his ribcage, and carefully moves his hand to settle on the teen’s shoulder instead. “We’re home, kiddo. C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Sanha dips his head in thanks when JinJin insists on carrying the youth’s luggage (although he keeps a tight hold on his guitar case, just as he had done at the train station), offering him that hollow flicker of a smile again. Returning it with one that he hopes appears genuine, Jinwoo guides his cousin towards the elevator with a hand at the small of his back, pressing the button for the third floor and wrapping his free arm around Sanha in a loose sideways hug as they begin their ascension. The teenager leans into him wordlessly, posture drooping further in exhaustion, and for a moment Jinwoo wishes he were still the taller cousin, able to scoop up six-year-old Sanha in his arms with ease.

He’s long since accepted his short stature, but in moments such as these, it’s a little inconvenient.

JinJin doesn’t even have time to fumble for his keys before the door to their apartment is pulled open from the inside, Sanha tensing up beside him immediately.

MJ’s standing there in the entrance alcove with cutely rumpled hair and a wide, sunny smile. He’s pulled on a bright orange hoodie over his pyjama top, and he’s wearing his new Minion slippers (an early Christmas gift from Seokjin), and all in all looks his usual cheery self. There’s no hint of worry or concern in his expression (although JinJin knows him well enough to see it there anyway), only warmth and easy affection.

“Sanha!” the shorter man greets brightly. “JinJin told me you were coming to stay. Come in, come in, let me look at y-… _aigoo.”_

Jinwoo catches his boyfriend’s gaze and lets his own eyes go wide in urgency, shaking his head vigorously from behind Sanha, mouthing _“don’t mention it, don’t mention it”_ and hoping against all hope that his boyfriend will be able to correctly interpret his silent signalling. MJ’s cheerful expression falters, but only for a split second, and then his grin’s back again with full force.

 “Aigoo,” he repeats, latching onto Sanha’s arm to pull him closer, glancing at him up and own. “Would you stop _growing_ already? This is getting ridiculous; my neck’s going to start aching every time I have to look at you.”

Jinwoo feels the stiffness in the teenager’s posture ease again at the elder’s friendly teasing (and the lack of any immediate interrogation regarding his visible injuries), and Sanha even manages a more genuine flicker of a smile.

“Hello, hyung,” the teen greets tiredly, his voice a little croaky, dipping his head in a quick bow. “Thank you for having me over to stay. I…I’m sorry for turning up so suddenly like this. I hope my call didn’t wake you up.”

“Oh, shut up and come here,” MJ groans (JinJin knows his tone of faint exasperation is to cover up far _bigger_ feelings that he can’t openly express in front of the teen), and tugs Sanha down into a gentle hug. “You’re family, kid. My home is your home.”

“Technically, it’s _my_ home,” JinJin reminds him as he pushes the door closed behind them, setting the kid’s luggage down so that he can toe off his shoes and tuck them away on one of the built-in shelves. “And he’s _my_ cousin.”

“Our cousin,” MJ corrects airily, waiting until Sanha’s propped up his guitar case against the wall before tugging off the teenager’s coat to hang it up, lifting a sleeve to inspect it curiously. “Wait, isn’t this JinJin’s? Yah, Yoon Sanha, did you come all the way from Pyeongchang-gun without a coat? Did I teach you nothing growing up?”

“But you were always forgetting your coat,” Sanha protests, sounding a little more like his old self (and the tightness in JinJin’s chest subsequently begins to ease).

The elder sets his hands on his hips, wrists bent, and hunches over in his usual mockery of an ageing grandfather. “Yah. Are you talking back to me, punk?” His gaze shifts to JinJin, faux-stern. “Did you hear how he just spoke to me, JinJin-ah? This kid, aish. Doesn’t he know how old I am?”

It’s a familiar play between the three of them, something MJ’s been doing for a good ten years now, and Jinwoo can’t help but smile, especially when it manages to coax a quiet little huff of laughter out of Sanha.

“Please be patient with him, hyung-nim,” Jinwoo placates with all due seriousness, reaching up to gently pat the back of Sanha’s neck. “He’s only young, he’s still learning.”

The elder clicks his tongue, then straightens his posture again, the character slipping as his previous smile returns and in one fluid motion, ‘grandfather’ is gone and Myungjun is back.  

MJ gives the teen a gentle nudge, nodding towards the nearest doorway.  “Head on through into the living room, aegi. I’ve got hot chocolate warming on the stove.”

With another little smile, the younger boy obligingly moves along the short entrance hall and disappears into the lounge. The moment he’s out of sight (and earshot), MJ’s cheery disposition vanishes, and he turns to face Jinwoo quickly with his expression full of worry, voice dropping to an urgent whisper.

“Oh my god, JinJin, his _face,”_ his boyfriend vexes. “What the hell happened? Did he get into a fight? Is he in trouble?”

JinJin had been anticipating the questions, but he’s still at a loss for how to answer them without betraying his promise of confidentiality to Sanha. He closes his eyes, dragging a hand through his hair as he gusts out a heavy sigh.

“Sanha hasn’t told me the full story yet,” he replies softly (which isn’t exactly a lie – he’s fairly sure he knows the truth, but it’s all just speculation at this point). “But none of it was his fault, I know that much. And I think it’s best we don’t push him for answers just yet – the kid’s tired and upset, and he’s had one helluva night. He’ll talk to us when he’s ready. For now, he’s here and he’s _safe._ That’s all that matters.”

MJ purses his lips a little; clearly he’s not one-hundred percent satisfied with the lack of information (and, like JinJin, is probably annoyed that he can’t immediately go after the individual responsible for hurting their dongsaeng), but he doesn’t press the issue further, instead turning to head into the kitchen without another word.

Jinwoo sighs tiredly, raking fingers through his rumpled hair. He’s known Myungjun long enough to realise that the man isn’t mad at _him;_ he’s just worried about Sanha, and angry that someone could be enough of a monster to hurt a kid like that. MJ just needs a few minutes to calm down, he’ll be alright. JinJin _hopes_ so, anyway. He doesn’t know if he can handle worrying about Sanha _and_ MJ at the same time.

Stepping into the living room, he stops short at the sight of Sanha stretched out sideways along the couch, long legs tucked up so that his sock-clad feet won’t dangle over the end, head pillowed in the crook of one arm, the other hugging one of MJ’s Packman pillows to his chest.

With his features lax in sleep, the teenager looks sweet and vulnerable and far, _far_ too young to be bearing such vivid bruises on his face.

_Aish, kiddo._

JinJin sinks down to sit on the edge of the coffee table in front of the couch with a tired sigh, dragging a hand down his face and blinking hard against the burning sensation in eyes. Realising it’s a battle he’s rapidly losing, he braces his elbows on his knees and drops his head into his hands, forcing himself to take several deep, steadying breaths. If he starts crying now, things are going to get _messy,_ because he’s tired and angry and just…just so _upset_ that life would choose to hurl so much shit at someone as sweet as Sanha. The kid’s already been through so much already, what with his mother passing away and then being shipped off to boarding school hundreds of miles away from his friends and JinJin, and now to suffer at the hands of his own father…

It just all seems so terribly _unfair._

There’s a quite whisper of slippers against the hardwood floor of the living room, and JinJin barely manages to knuckle the brimming moisture from his eyes before short arms encircle him from behind.

“Ddana’s okay,” Myungjun murmurs, chin resting on JinJin’s shoulder. “He’s always been a tough kid. He’ll make it through this. And whatever happens, JinJin-ah, the two of us will figure out a way to keep him safe; I know we will.”

Calmed by his boyfriend’s quiet confidence, Jinwoo nods, swiping at his eyes one last time. He feels MJ press a lingering kiss to the side of his head, then the man’s pulling away from him, moving around the coffee table to retrieve the folded Avengers quilt from the stack of pillows and bedsheets at the foot of the couch (Sanha had apparently failed to notice them, in his state of exhaustion). Shaking it out to unfurl it, Myungjun drapes the thick blanket over Sanha’s legs and torso, leaning over the teen to carefully tuck it around his skinny frame.

The youth stirs in his sleep with a soft noise of discomfort, and MJ shifts to perch on the edge of the couch, hand coming  up to settle in the kid’s hair briefly, stroking through the faded pastel-pink strands.

“Shhh,” he soothes quietly. “It’s okay, you’re safe now. Go back to sleep, Ddana.”

Sanha goes still again, his creased brow smoothing out as he settles once more under MJ’s gentle touch. The elder lingers for a few moments longer, fingers hovering near Sanha’s injuries without quite touching, before he gusts out a tired sigh of his own and pushes himself to his feet.

Then he turns to face Jinwoo.

“Hot chocolate,” MJ says firmly, pointing to the tray that’s appeared as if by magic at the far end of the coffee table. “Drink it.”

Jinwoo isn’t stupid enough to refuse his boyfriend when he uses his _hyung_ voice, and obediently picks up one of the mugs, cradling it between his hands and savouring the warmth it provides as he takes a cautious sip. The temperature’s neither too hot not too cold, sweet and rich and satisfying, the perfect blend of milk and chocolate; as expected of the _Beverage King_ (or so many of the staff at _Fantagio_ _Café_ have taken to calling MJ ever since the invention of his famous triple-seven latte). JinJin can already feel himself relaxing.

“You should go back to bed for a few hours,” he says after a few minutes of silence, once the chocolate’s down to its last dregs. “It doesn’t get busy on a Saturday until after nine, I’m sure Seokjin-hyung won’t mind if you come in late – you’ve been there almost every day this week.”

MJ shakes his head, pulling the mug from Jinwoo’s lax grip and setting it aside. He slides gracefully into his lap, lifting a hand to cradle the side of the younger man’s face, thumb stroking against his cheek.

“Jin-hyung’s taking the day off,” he says, keeping his voice carefully hushed. “It’s _BigHit’s_ fourth anniversary this week, remember? He’s commissioned Rocky to make a cake with that chocolate and hazelnut ganache Joonie likes so much; the kid’s probably been working on it all night. They’re gonna surprise Yoongi and Namjoon with it later this morning, so that means I’m left playing head manager for a few hours.”

JinJin blinks, surprised by the sudden news. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“We talked about it three days ago, hon,” MJ tells him, faintly amused, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. “But you were being all sleepy and cute, so I’m not surprised none of it sunk in.” Another kiss, and then MJ wraps his arms around JinJin’s shoulders, resting his head against the younger man’s. “I need to leave in an hour or so. Why don’t you go take a nap? I can wake you before I leave, if you’re worried about Sanha.”

When _isn’t_ he worried about Sanha?

Jinwoo doesn’t particularly want to leave the kid, but he can’t deny that the events of the past hour or so have left him feeling emotionally drained and physically exhausted. A nap sounds really fucking good right now.

“Alright,” he agrees, closing his eyes briefly as he heaves a tired sigh. “But promise me you’ll make sure I’m awake before you go? I don’t want Sanha to wake up alone.”

MJ kisses him a third time. “I promise. Now go on, time’s a-ticking.”

Myungjun shifts out of his lap (JinJin misses his soft, cuddly warmth immediately) and he heaves himself reluctantly to his feet, rubbing at his eyes, the itchy sort of burning sensation lingering there, a combination of suppressed tears and simple fatigue.

He yawns, murmurs a sleepy _goodnight_ and turns towards the door…only to pause as something catches his attention. There, draped over the back of a nearby chair; criss-cross patterned cotton trousers in various shades of blue, and a matching dark blue shirt. _Is that…?_

JinJin blinks, bemused.

 

“Are...are those _Dongmin’s_ pyjamas?”

 

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot the ships. ;P
> 
> The details of this crossover will eventually come to light during the story, but for reference none of the idols mentioned in this fic are celebrities in this 'verse. MJ is assistant manager at Astro Cafe, a live music cafe owned by Seokjin of BTS. Across the street is a music/record shop/HipHop hangout known as BigHit, owned by Min Yoongi and Namjoon of BTS. You'll have to wait and see how all the other members fit in around them, but these are the two main established things that I'll be frequently referencing in the coming future. :)
> 
> Any questions or requests, feel free to drop me a message! Thank you for all your comments and kudos with the last chapter. :) 
> 
> Merry Christmas to you, one and all! <3 Happy festive season, be sure to wrap up warm for those of you who live in the colder parts of the world. :) xxxx


	3. Meet The Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Babe?"  
> "Mm?"  
> “Why is there a tall child passed out on our couch?”

.

Moonbin stumbles from the bathroom with his eyes still half-closed, grunting softly when his shoulder connects with the unforgiving edge of the wooden doorframe.

“Ow,” he mumbles.

“Watch your step,” Dongmin cautions, his smile audible as his voice drifts back from the kitchen at the other end of the short corridor. “You’ve tripped up once already, Bin-ah. Maybe try to avoid any serious injuries before breakfast, okay?”

The younger man hums in sleepy acknowledgment and blinks a few times to try and pry his eyelids further open, shuffling his way along the corridor in the direction of his boyfriend (and whatever amazing breakfast dish he happens to be making at the moment). As he passes by living room, a flash of movement catches his eye, and he peers blearily in the direction of the couch, lifting a hand in preparation to give JinJin a tired wave in greeting.

His arm freezes mid-action, and Moonbin stares at the stranger in silence for a solid ten seconds, watching as the baby-faced giant shifts in his sleep, long legs extending in a stretch over the end of the couch.

Binnie blinks, rubs his eyes, and stares at him again.

Yup, still there.

Marginally more cognisant than he had been only a minute before, but all the more perplexed because of it, Moonbin turns to head into the kitchen, pausing at the threshold as he watches Dongmin lift the lid off a saucepan at the stove, a cloud of steam rising up from the simmering broth within. The air is warm and rich with the scent of fresh coffee and doenjang soup, and on any other day, food and caffeine would be the principle concerns occupying Moonbin’s thoughts. Today, however, there’s a far more pressing issue to address.

“Um,” he starts, his brow still furrowed faintly in sleepy confusion. “Babe?”

“Mm?” Dongmin hums distractedly, ladling a portion of soup into a bowl with practiced ease.

“Why is there a tall child passed out on our couch?”

The elder boy turns and flashes him a quick smile, although there’s something about the expression that doesn’t look quite right.

“Oh, that’s Sanha. You didn’t wake him, did you?”

Moonbin shakes his head dumbly for a moment before the name clicks. “Wait, Sanha? As in _Yoon_ Sanha, JinJin-hyung’s baby cousin? I thought he lived in Pyeongchang?”

“He does,” Dongmin confirms calmly, scooping out some rice from the steamer. “But he’s come to stay with us for the school holidays.” Carrying the two bowls over to the dining table, he sets them down beside the mug of coffee waiting there and sends Binnie another gentle smile. “Come and eat before it goes cold, Moogi.”

The younger man obeys on auto-pilot, taking a seat tucking into his breakfast, although his eyes follow his boyfriend as Dongmin heads back over to the stove to turn down the heat beneath the simmering soup and close the lid on the steamer to keep the rice warm. On any other day it would be a perfectly normal scene of domestic bliss, but there’s something that doesn’t sit quite right with Moonbin, and as he watches his uncharacteristically silent boyfriend move to the sink to wash some dishes, that feeling only intensifies.

The man seems perfectly cheerful, but Moonbin’s known him for years now; long enough to be able to identify the little irregularities – the slight pinch at the corners of Dongmin’s eyes, the way his smile is a smidgen _too_ bright, the way his spine is just a little too straight for such a comfortable atmosphere.

Moonbin swallows his mouthful of rice, and takes a fortifying sip of too-hot coffee for good measure.

“About Sanha…why does his face look like someone tried to beat him up?”

The dish slips from Dongmin’s hands and falls back into the water with a wet splash, but for once the man doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that he’s just sloshed soap suds all over the countertop (and if that isn’t an indication of the true seriousness of the situation, nothing is).

His shoulders sag with the force of his sigh, and when he turns back around to face Moonbin, the faux-cheerfulness is gone, his expression solemn and a little weary.

“I don’t know the full story,” his boyfriend finally answers, slowly drying his hands on a dish towel as he crosses over to the table, dropping down heavily into the chair beside Bin. “Only that he ran away from home last night. Jinwoo-hyung picked him up from the train station a few hours ago.”

Moonbin is silent for a moment, processing the new information, his spoon absently toying with the vegetables in his soup as the rice he’s already eaten begins to grow heavy in his stomach.

He’d only caught a brief glimpse of the bruises on Sanha’s face, but there’d been at least three or four separate marks, all of them fairly fresh-looking (and Bin ought to know; he’s clumsy enough to get injured on a semi-regular basis). For the kid to have turned up in Seoul so suddenly with those injuries, and after running away from home…

Binnie sets his spoon down, his appetite suddenly gone.

“Where’s Jin-hyung now?” he asks softly.

Dongmin reaches for Bin’s mug. “He stepped out ten minutes ago to pick up some milk. Apparently Sanha drinks a lot of it.” The man takes a long sip of (stolen) coffee, then fixes Moonbin with a serious look. “When the kid wakes up, whatever you do, don’t ask him about the bruises. Hyung wants him to feel comfortable here with us, and it won’t help if we start prying into his business.”

Moonbin steals his coffee back so he can take a sip himself (god knows he needs it today, even more than he usually does). “It’s probably best to avoid talking about his home situation altogether, huh?”

His boyfriend nods, looking relieved to know that they’re both on the same page about this.

“He’s going to be with us for a while,” Dongmin adds. “The new school term doesn’t start for another two weeks, and I get the feeling JinJin-hyung won’t be keen on letting him go back to Pyeongchang-gun anytime soon-”

“Good,” Moonbin mutters.

“-so let’s do our best to make his stay a good one,” his boyfriend presses, a familiar spark of determination glinting in his eyes. “It’s been a while since we last had a dongsaeng to spoil, right? Rocky acts more like an adult than the both of us sometimes, and I know you miss it.”

Moonbin feels his lips curl into a small, fond smile. The man’s right – Rocky’s been a little brother to him ever since they joined the same dance group seven years ago, but the youth is nineteen now and doesn’t let his hyungs treat him like a kid the way he used to. He’s still the same easy-going Minhyuk, always eager to play games and have fun, but he’s also grown up far too quickly into a mature, perceptive young man who probably knows far more about the world than your average school student.

He’ll always be a kid in Moonbin’s eyes, but if he ever tried to pinch Rocky’s cheek and call him cute, the younger man would probably find a sneaky and creative way to retaliate later on.

“You’re one to talk,” he counters, nudging his boyfriend’s knee with his own beneath the table. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the fact that Sanha’s the same age as Donghwi. Which one of us misses being a big brother?”

Dongmin smiles and ducks his head, shrugging, clearly unable to deny it. Given how frequently he whines to Moonbin about not being unable to talk to his own little brother as often as he’d like (Donghwi’s currently studying abroad in China, and the boarding school he attends has strict rules about the use of cell phones), he really doesn’t have a leg to stand on. He’s taken to fussing over the rest of his friends to compensate for being unable to fuss over his brother; even the hyungs haven’t managed to escape his clutches. Not that either MJ or Jinwoo complain about it much, since it generally means they’re both well-fed and the apartment is kept clean and tidy with very little effort on their part.

It’s one of the reasons Dongmin has earned himself the title of ‘eomma’ in recent months, but the man just rolls with it; he’s even started jokingly referring to MJ as ‘my son’ as part of the act. Although that might also have something to do with the way the older man constantly uses aegyo on them to get what he wants.

“JinJin-hyung?”

Startling at the quiet voice, Moonbin glances up towards the doorway sharply, Dongmin’s head coming up at the same time. Jinwoo’s baby cousin is standing there with an Avengers blanket wrapped around him like a cloak, rubbing at his puffy eyes with the back of his hand and looking ten kinds of adorable because of it. Moonbin’s heart melts instantly.

Sanha drops the hand and blinks at them, then seems to immediately realise that the occupants of the kitchen aren’t the hyungs he’d been expecting. Eyes widening a little, he clutches the blanket around him a little tighter and gives a quick bow in greeting.

“Hello,” the teen murmurs politely, a faint dusting of pink rising to his cheeks. “Sorry, I thought you were my cousin.”

Dongmin’s already rising from his seat to greet the boy properly. “I hope we didn’t wake you, Sanha,” he says kindly, holding out a hand for the youth to shake. “I’m Dongmin, and this is Moonbin – we’re Jinwoo-hyung’s roommates. Come and sit down, you’re just in time for breakfast.”

“Oh, a-are you sure there’s enough?” Sanha stutters, even as he allows Dongmin to steer him over to the table and into the man’s vacated seat (powerless, as most people tend to be, in the face of Dongmin’s effortless charm). “I don’t mind making my own breakfast.”

“Don’t worry, there’s plenty,” the elder reassures, crossing back over to the stove to portion out another generous serving of soup and rice. “Jinwoo-hyung said you had a pretty late night; you must be hungry.”

Sanha ducks his gaze to the table, nodding. “Mm.”

Moonbin sees the teenager’s fingers clench tighter in the fabric of the Avengers blanket, and seeks to distract him from whatever unpleasant thoughts or memories are undoubtedly going through his head, reaching out to nudge Sanha gently with his elbow.

“Dongmin makes the best soup,” he insists, flashing the youth an easy grin. “But don’t tell MJ-hyung; it’ll start another culinary war between the two of them, and none of us want that. The last time they challenged each other to a cooking battle, it lasted almost nineteen hours.”

Sanha’s eyes grow round. “Seriously?”

Nodding gravely, Moonbin recollects, “In the end we had to forcefully remove both of them from the kitchen; they’d made enough dishes to feed us for about a week. I had to go out and buy new plastic tubs just to be able to store it all in the refrigerator.”

“Ohh, I think I remember JinJin-hyung telling me about that,” Sanha mentions, a teeny-tiny smile curling cutely at his mouth. “Hyung sent me a photo of all the boxes stacked up in the fridge. Dongmin-ssi made some sort of experimental watermelon pancakes in the shape of stars, right?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Dongmin sighs, clearly amused by his own past mistakes, setting down the two steaming bowls in front of Sanha before squeezing the youth’s shoulder, his smile warm. “And it’s fine if you want to call me ‘hyung’, okay?”

Sanha’s answering smile is two parts shy and ten parts adorable (aish, Moonbin’s heart) as he picks up his spoon and digs into his rice eagerly.

“Okay, hyung.”

Dongmin touches a hand to the teen’s pale-pink hair and shares a brief, fond glance with Bin before turning to head back over to the sink and resume washing the dishes. Moonbin takes another bite of his own breakfast (his appetite has returned with little fuss now that Sanha seems more cheerful; but realistically, it would take an awful lot to put him off food entirely), surreptitiously watching Sanha out of the corner of his eye as the youth tucks into his breakfast with a quiet noise of surprise and delight.

“Oh wow,” the teen murmurs, lifting a hand to his mouth as he chews. “You weren’t kidding about the soup. Dongmin-hyung, this is _so_ good!”

The man laughs warmly, eyes crinkling with the act as he glances back at them. “Thank you, Sanha.”

“Seriously,” the youth enthuses, taking another bite. “You should become a professional chef or something.”

“I keep telling him that,” Moonbin laments, sending his boyfriend a teasing grin when Dongmin rolls his eyes at him. “But Minnie still insists on becoming a boring old judge. It’s been his dream for years, and he’s a stubborn thing.”

“I think it’s a good dream,” Sanha says quietly, his smile cute and sincere. “Judges are important. They help people.”

Aish, this kid. Moonbin would pinch his cheeks but a) that might seem a little weird coming from someone he’s just met, and b) the bruising and swelling along Sanha’s right cheekbone really does look painful. He wonders if the kid had time to ice it before he went on the run to Seoul, or whether it’s worth sneaking one of his cold gel-packs and the first aid kit to Jinwoo before he leaves for work; those wounds could use a good layer of bruise cream, if nothing else.

“What about you?” he asks, scraping the last of his rice from the bowl. “What’s your dream?”

“Me? I…” Sanha ducks his gaze to his soup, suddenly shy again. “I like music.”

Dongmin finishes drying his hands, turning back towards them with a quiet hum of interest. “Oh? Which instrument do you play?”

“Guitar,” the teenager answers softly, with a cute smile and a self-conscious little shrug. “Sort of. I’m still learning.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great if you work hard at it,” Moonbin encourages. “Do you take lessons at school?”

“No, I…I’m kinda just following online tutorials?” Sanha pokes at his soup, his smile fading a little. “The school offered, but apparently they need parental permission for all the extracurricular stuff, so…”

The kid trails off, and Moonbin shares another brief glance with Dongmin during the long beat of silence that follows. He can tell his boyfriend is struggling to find something to say that’ll pick the conversation back up again, just as much as he is. Before either of them can think of another topic, however, Sanha gives another little shrug and seems to brighten up all on his own.

“I don’t really mind teaching myself,” the youth insists, with impressive positivity for someone who’s clearly had to deal with more than his fair share of hardships. “It means I can learn at my own pace. And I get to study all the songs I like instead of whatever gets approved by the music department, so that’s definitely a bonus. Plus I don’t have to take exams or learn all the boring theory stuff, I can just play for my own enjoyment.”

Moonbin’s never wanted to hug a dongsaeng so much in his life. Given that the kid’s only known him five minutes, he settles for an encouraging sort of smile instead, hands clenched around his mug in an effort to keep from reaching out to ruffle the teen’s fluffy hair.

“That’s really admirable, Sanha” Dongmin murmurs, pouring himself a mug of coffee from the pot by the stove. “It takes a lot of self-discipline to learn something on your own. I took piano lessons when I was younger, but I didn’t really enjoy them until I was a teenager. My mom used to have to literally drag me to my tutor’s house every Saturday when I was still in elementary school. I even tried hiding my music books once in the hope that she’d cancel the lesson because of it, but no such luck.”

Moonbin huffs a surprised breath of laughter at the mental image of Dongmin being a difficult child. Of course all children go through similar phases growing up where they challenge their parents about something, but a part of him had always naturally assumed that Dongmin was one of the rare exceptions to that rule – his boyfriend is always so unfailingly polite to people, he honestly can’t imagine him having ever thrown a tantrum like any normal child might do.

“I’m glad she made you go,” Moonbin says, propping his chin up in his hand, elbow braced against the edge of the table as he smiles across at the other man. “You play so beautifully now. I’d give my right leg for half your talent.”

Dongmin scoffs at that, although he’s clearly pleased by the compliment. “And give up on dancing? Not likely.”

Sanha makes a noise of intrigue as he chews quickly on his breakfast, lifting a hand to cover his mouth again. “You’re on the _Bangtan_ dance team with JinJin-hyung, right?” At Moonbin’s nod, he presses on keenly, “You guys are so awesome. I can’t believe you got to perform at the SMF last month. Did you meet anyone famous?”

“I shook hands with G-Dragon,” Moonbin tells him, trying to pull off a casual air (when in actual fact he’d stuttered out an embarrassing fanboyish spiel about how much he loved _BigBang,_ much to his retrospective devastation in the weeks that had followed). “That was pretty cool.”

Dongmin sends him a knowing look as he approaches the table, leaning down to stage-whisper to Sanha, “Binnie’s a big fan’.”

“Oh, me too!” the teenager enthuses brightly. “Although I think maybe _BtoB_ are my favourite.”

Moonbin sees Dongmin’s eyes light up, and groans softly in despair, elaborating for Sanha’s benefit when the teenager glances at him in concern:

“Don’t get him started on his _BtoB,_ Sanha. Dongu here used to have a shrine dedicated to them back when we were in high school.”

Dongmin flushes faintly pink. “It wasn’t a shrine,” he protests. “I just liked to keep all my albums and photo-cards organised neatly.”

Putting a hand to the side of his mouth and catching Sanha’s gaze, Moonbin mouths _‘big fanboy’_ , pointing in Dongmin’s direction. The teenager hides his answering laugh behind a well-timed cough and quickly fills his mouth with rice to further disguise his amusement.

“Sanha?”

JinJin’s sudden worried call startles them all, and Moonbin glances up in time to see Jinwoo hurrying into the kitchen, two plastic bags swinging from his hands. He seems momentarily panicked until his gaze settles on Sanha, whereupon he heaves a sigh of relief forceful enough to make his height sink by a good two inches. The man recovers his usual cheerfulness quickly, however, setting the bags down on the kitchen countertop before moving to stand behind the teenager’s chair, wrapping both arms around Sanha in a backwards hug.

“I wasn’t expecting to find you awake so soon,” Jinwoo comments, peering down at the youth with an easy smile. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mm,” Sanha confirms, lifting a hand to settle over one of JinJin’s arms, smiling as he uses the spoon to gesture to his bowl of soup. “My stomach woke me up. Dongmin-hyung’s cooking smelled so good, it was making me hungry. His soup is amazing.”

Jinwoo gives a low hum of agreement, and Moonbin catches the quick look of gratitude he sends in Dongmin’s direction once Sanha’s attention has returned to his breakfast.

“Do you two have any plans for today?” the elder asks, moving away to unpack the groceries.

Dongmin sighs, glancing down at his wristwatch. “I’ve got a meeting with my agent at ten about a contract with _Nongshim._ ”

“They pretzel brand?” Jinwoo responds, surprised. “They want you to do a full photoshoot just for that?”

The part-time model taps a finger against his mug, avoiding their gazes. “It’s going to be a CF, actually.”

Moonbin almost chokes on his coffee. “What?!” He stares across at his boyfriend, wide-eyed. “You’re gonna be on TV and you never _told me?!”_

“It’s not confirmed yet,” Dongmin hastens to placate, but Moonbin is already poking his sock-clad toes against the man’s shins beneath the table in wounded retaliation. “There’s still a chance I’ll get there and they’ll have decided to cast someone else.”

“Over your perfect face?” Moonbin argues defensively. “Bullshit.”

Jinwoo clears his throat loudly, shooting daggers at Moonbin with his eyes and gesturing towards Sanha in an emphatic _“what the fuck, not in front of the kid”_ sort of motion (okay, so maybe Moonbin just hears that part in his own head).

Sanha doesn’t glance up from his breakfast, but Bin sees his teeny-tiny grin of amused exasperation as the teenager rolls his eyes.

“Hyung, it’s fine. I’m seventeen, remember?”

“Exactly. You’re still just a _baby,”_ JinJin insists. “It’s a new House Rule, guys: no swearing around Sanha.”

Dongmin nods in agreement, while both Moonbin and Sanha groan in unison; Moonbin because he’s prone to slipping up when he’s tired (the only time he tends to swear is first thing in the morning; he’s a lot more with-it later in the day), and Sanha because apparently he finds the new rule unjust for a very different reason.

“Hyuuuung, you mean I’m not allowed to swear _at all?”_

Jinwoo gives his cousin a _look._ “And since when do you swear, Yoon Sanha?”

“Sometimes…well okay, never. But what if I woke up one day and decided I wanted to?”

The elder heaves a fond but exasperated sigh. “Just eat your breakfast, kiddo.” The smile is still curling at his lips when his gaze shifts across to Moonbin. “And aren’t you supposed to be at work in twenty minutes?”

His stomach dropping, Binnie glances quickly towards the clock hanging on the wall. “Aw fuck.”

“Yah!” Jinwoo gives him a _what did I just say_ sort of look, but Moonbin’s too busy panicking to pay much attention to it.

“Sorry,” he hastily apologises, pushing his chair back quickly and moving to gather his dishes.

Given everything that’s happened this morning with Sanha, it had completely slipped his mind that he’d promised MJ and Jungkook that he’d start his shift at _Fantagio_ _Café_ an hour earlier than usual to help cover for Seokjin, who would be busy setting up a surprise party to commemorate _BigHit’s_ fourth anniversary as an independent company. He knows Rocky had spent a good portion of the night in the café’s kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the giant chocolate cake Jin had commissioned to help celebrate the occasion, which probably means the younger man didn’t get nearly enough sleep last night and consequently won’t be his usual early-bird self. Given that it’s a Saturday, the café really can’t afford to be understaffed, not with _Astro’s_ recent popularity boost.

Dongmin waves him away from the dishes. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll clean up,” his boyfriend reassures. “Go get ready.”

Moonbin smiles at him gratefully, moving around the table to press a quick kiss to the man’s enviably unblemished cheek. “You’re the best. I’ll see you this afternoon, right?”

“Two o’clock on the dot,” Donmin promises, reaching up to stroke his cheek in a brief caress. “Save me a vanilla cupcake?”

“Always.”

Jinwoo makes dramatic retching noises in the background (that _bastard),_ but Sanha smiles at him adorably when Moonbin straightens up.

“You two must really love each other,” the teen sighs dreamily. “That’s so cute.”

“No, no, don’t encourage them,” Jinwoo says, feigning alarm as he moves over to cover Sanha’s mouth. “Trust me, aegi, it stops being cute real fast.”

“But you and MJ-hyung always used to say mushy stuff like that when we were younger,” Sanha protests, his voice muffled by JinJin’s palm.

Moonbin pauses at the doorway to the kitchen, suddenly intrigued. “Did they now?”

“Twenty minutes, Bin-ah,” Jinwoo reminds him pointedly.

The younger man grins, knowing an opportunity for potential blackmail material when he sees it, and gives Sanha a little finger-wiggling wave.

“Come talk to me later, okay? I’ll buy you lunch.”

Sanha beams at the offer, tugging his cousin’s hand away from his mouth long enough to say, “Okay, hyung!”

Moonbin laughs as Jinwoo’s dramatic squawk of wounded betrayal echoes after him down the corridor, and make a mental note to introduce Sanha to Minhyuk as soon as possible. The kid’s adorable and far too easy to love, but there’s a cheeky sort of playfulness to him that’s very similar to Rocky’s, and he’s confident the two of them will get along well. Besides, it’ll be nice for Sanha to have a hyung a little closer to his own age; someone he can really be friends with. And Rocky needs a little more cuteness in his life.

Before he exits the apartment, he carefully places a chemical gel-pack and a tub of bruise cream on the coffee table in the living room with a note that simply reads _’20 minutes, then apply the cream’._

He knows JinJin will understand who it’s intended for.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished the third chapter! Apologies for the delay in getting this posted, it's been a busy few weeks and my muse has been more than unusually stubborn. 
> 
> Also WHOEVER NOMINATED MY ASTRO FIC FOR AN AWARD, YOU'RE AMAZING AND I LOVE YOU. <3 <3 <3
> 
> If any of you dear readers would like to vote for me, here's the link to the googledocs thing, my story is listed under 'Best Gen', which is a few pages along in the voting form:  
> https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSeD0pO3S_C_W5NdIIy04Lpd4W511kZqJutm_3Wnu2hvNUGsGA/viewform
> 
> But totally no pressure to vote, I'm honestly just happy to have been nominated. :) Thanks again!
> 
> You'll get to meet the rest of Astro, and also an assortment of BTS/GOT7/idol members in the coming chapters. Some idols in this 'verse are still idols (BigBang, for instance) but most of my faves are normal citizens or minor artists because I want them to interact. :P Dongmin is a part-time model to help fund his college tuition, and is quickly gaining popularity (the way he did back in 2016), and all the rest of Astro share some sort of talent when it comes to music/dance, but obviously none of them intend to become idol trainees. Namjoon of BTS is an underground rapper (along with Yoongi) who owns the music store across the road from MJ's cafe, and J-Hope owns a dance studio above it where JinJin, Moonbin, Rocky, Jungkook and assorted others all train together and make awesome YouTube videos. :D
> 
> Sanha is going to be adopted by pretty much everyone, just to give you a heads-up about the dangerous amount of fluff I have planned for this story. I'm gonna make sure that boy gets loved. <3  
> xxx


	4. Battle Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jinwoo and Sanha finally have a talk.
> 
>  
> 
> (Warning: mentions of abuse, mentions of past mental health struggles.)

.

“ _Hyuung._ Can I take it off now?”

Jinwoo’s lips twitch at the pleading tone in his cousin’s voice; after seventeen years spent learning how to stand firm in the face of Sanha’s effortless aegyo, his resistance to the teen’s wheedling is still only weak at best, but he _has_ learned how to say no…at least to some extent.

“Not yet,” he answers, slipping behind Sanha to perch on the arm of the couch so that he can gently scrub at the teen’s shower-damp hair with a towel. “Leave it on a little while longer, it’ll help with the swelling.”

“But it’s _cold,_ ” Sanha whines tipping his head back against Jinwoo’s chest, bottom lip jutting out sulkily in what would’ve probably been a ridiculously adorable expression if the upper half of his face hadn’t been obscured by a luminous blue gel pack.

It’s still pretty fucking cute regardless.

JinJin smiles fondly, giving the youth’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Kinda the point, kiddo.” At Sanha’s answering noise of squeaky disgruntlement, the elder’s resolve weakens a little, and he decides to reach a compromise. “Five more minutes, okay? Think you can handle that?”

Sanha heaves a resigned sigh, slumping back against him. “Guess I’ll have to.”

Rolling his eyes at his cousin’s cutesy dramatics, JinJin resumes drying the teen’s hair, tossing the towel aside after a few minutes to run his fingers through it, trying to smooth it flat in a semblance of Sanha’s usual hairstyle.

He freezes when his fingertips accidentally graze over a bump near the youth’s temple and Sanha sucks in a shallow, startled breath.

“Ai! Sorry, sorry, that was hyung’s fault,” Jinwoo rushes to apologise, arms coming around Sanha in a brief, tight backhug before he pulls away to survey the damage. “Hold still, let me see.”

Sanha reaches up blindly to bat at JinJin’s fussing fingers. “ _Hyuuung,_ it’s not that bad. I was just startled when you touched it, that’s all. Doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

Jinwoo gently pushes the teen’s hand out of the way, parting the fading candy-floss pink hair with careful fingers to peer at the raised area of skin.

It appears that the scabbed-over cut at the corner of the kid’s temple actually extends an inch and a half further than he’d initially thought, the graze perfectly hidden beneath Sanha’s hair. JinJin’s no medical expert, but he’s suffered enough cuts and bruises over the years through general day-to-day clumsiness as a kid to know that head wounds, even relatively superficial scrapes like this, tend to bleed a _helluva_ lot.

The mental image of his cousin being knocked to the floor, bloodied and bruised, makes bile rise to the back of JinJin’s throat. He feels a blanket of calm settle over him, a peculiar sort of chill that seeps through his skin and crawls deep inside his chest.

“Sanha,” he murmurs, his voice hushed. “Listen to me, aegi – I promise we won’t have to talk about this again after today if you don’t want to…but I _need_ to know what happened last night. Who hurt you?”

He feels the teenager’s upper body go tense against him, Sanha’s tongue darting out to wet his lips before they press together in a thin line. JinJin can’t see the rest of his face because of the gel-pack, but that’s probably a good thing; he’s pretty sure whatever expression Sanha’s wearing would be enough to shatter his fragile resolve to pursue such a sensitive issue to its end.

Jinwoo settles a hand on the teenager’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Earlier this morning, when you called me from the train station, you said something about your father,” he prompts carefully. “You told me he’d been drinking again; that he’d gotten angry. Does that have anything to do with the marks on your face?”

Sanha’s lips part enough for him to draw in a shaky breath before sealing themselves shut again, but after half a beat he dips his head in a quick, shallow nod. JinJin squeezes the youth’s shoulder again, that blanket of calm wrapping around him further, even though he can feel bitter anger brewing at the back of his mind. He keeps himself firmly distanced from those feelings.  Right now, Sanha’s situation is more important than his own need to vent – there’ll be time later to punch a wall and scream into a pillow, if he needs to.

“Sanha,” Jinwoo continues quietly, his voice dropping further. “Did he hit you?”

Another tiny nod.

JinJin swallows past the lump forming in his throat. “More than once?”

He hears the hitch in Sanha’s breathing as his cousin nods again, and in the next moment the teenager drops the gel-pack into his lap in order to bury his face in both hands, shoulders trembling.

Jinwoo quickly winds his arms around the boy from behind, cheek pressed against the top of Sanha’s head as he listens to the teenager fruitlessly try to muffle the sound of his crying. His own eyes are burning fiercely out of compassion for Sanha’s grief, anger rising at the thought of the so-called parental figure responsible for the teen’s most recent trauma.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, because he _is._

JinJin’s sorry that Sanha’s had to go through something like this to begin with; sorry that he hadn’t been there to protect the teenager from his father when Sanha needed him most.

 _Aish,_ he wishes he’d known about the drinking sooner. His uncle’s always had something of a short temper (even before Sanha’s mother got hospitalised, he used to scold the kid for making too much noise around the house, which usually resulted in JinJin taking a tearful Sanha out for ice cream or arcade games to cheer him up on a weekly basis), but as far as he’s aware, alcohol had never been a problem in the past. Of course, it could’ve been a habit he’d taken up only when Mrs Yoon’s health had worsened – everyone has their coping mechanisms, and he wouldn’t be the first person to try drowning his sorrows in a bottle of soju.

Maybe that’s why his uncle had sent Sanha so far away from home, and made arrangements so that the teenager spent all but six weeks of the year in a private boarding school; perhaps, in some small way, his uncle had been trying to _protect_ Sanha from the effects of his alcoholism.

 _Bullshit,_ contends the bitterly angry voice in the back of JinJin’s mind. _Being drunk doesn’t automatically compel you to beat the crap out of your own child. If he really gave a shit about Sanha, he’d quit the bottle and go sober. That’s what any half-decent parent would do._

Jinwoo wonders just how long this whole _drinking_ problem has been going on for. It’ll be five years this spring since his aunt passed away, and just over four years since Sanha got shipped away to boarding school – had this been going on behind the scenes all that time?

Aigoo, why hadn’t Sanha _told_ him?

Realistically, that’s a question for another day. His main concern right now is that the teenager’s own _home_ is clearly no longer a safe place for him to stay, and JinJin will hack his own arm off before he allows his uncle within a twenty foot radius of Sanha.

Which presents him with a whole new set of complications; legally, Sanha’s still a minor. JinJin has _no_ idea whether keeping the teenager in his apartment without his father’s consent goes against official guardianship laws or something – it isn’t a topic he’s intimately familiar with, or had even thought to consider before today. After all, his cousin’s visit was only supposed to be for a couple of weeks, until term started back again after the New Year and Sanha could go back to boarding school. Now, however, he’s inclined to make the arrangement far more _permanent._

Which might prove to be difficult, if Mr Yoon decides to try and take his kid back.

Having the authorities on their side would help, but Jinwoo doesn’t even know if Sanha’s going to be willing to report his injuries to the police.  Were the teenager a couple of years younger, Jinwoo would take the decision out of his hands and file the report himself, but his cousin turns eighteen in the New Year, and he’ll be a young man in his own right – this really isn’t JinJin’s call.

“Sanha,” he murmurs again after several long minutes, once the threat of his own tears has passed. “I think maybe we should talk to the police about this.”

“No!” is Sanha’s immediate answer, his voice shaky and thick with tears. “Hyung, no, he’s my _dad,_ I don’t want…it’s not like anything _serious_ happened. Parents hit their kids all the time.”

Jinwoo wants to cry all over again; wants to give his cousin a gentle shake and make him _understand_ that a parent giving their kid a couple of swats for skipping curfew is radically different from Sanha’s father getting drunk off his face and using the teenager like a fucking _punch-bag._ But that isn’t going to help the situation, and he’s not so heartless as to say anything quite so bluntly when Sanha’s already so broken and vulnerable.

He sighs tiredly, hugging the youth tighter against him. “I can’t force you to go to the police if you don’t want to,” he acknowledges. “But I’m not gonna let you go back to your father, San. Not after what he’s done to you. I’m your hyung; it’s my job to keep you safe, and I can’t do that when you’re in Pyeongchang with your father.”

Sanha lifts a hand to curl loosely around JinJin’s forearm where it rests against his chest, nodding slowly.

“I…I don’t want to go home,” the teen confesses, his voice small. “Wanna stay here with you an’ MJ-hyung.”

The rush of relief Jinwoo feels at the youth’s words is almost dizzying in its intensity, but he takes a calming breath to centre himself, giving Sanha another tight squeeze.

“I already told you,” he murmurs. “My home is your home. You can stay here forever, if you want to.”

A quiet sniffle, then, “But what about the others? Won’t they mind?”

“Dongu and Bin-ah? Trust me, they already like you, kid. And it’ll be nice for them to have someone younger to fuss over.” Jinwoo smiles a little, huffing a quiet laugh. “Binnie’s always hated being the maknae. That’s your job now.”

Sanha shrugs, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t mind. It’s kinda nice.”

JinJin catches his hand quickly. “Don’t rub, you’ll make the bruising worse. Here, let me see.”

He shifts out from behind Sanha, hopping off the arm of the couch to move around and face the youth, perching on the edge of the cushion instead. The teenager’s face is pink and blotchy, both from crying and the chill of the ice pack, but the swelling from earlier has visibly reduced, particularly along his cheekbone and above his eyebrow.

“How does it look?” Sanha asks, with a tentatively hopeful wince.

JinJin smiles at him, as genuinely as he can manage with his stomach still churning in suppressed anger and grief on his cousin’s behalf.

“Much better,” he reassures. “Now hold still, let me put some of this on.”

He unscrews the lid on the small pot of bruise cream, then cups Sanha’s chin in one hand to keep him from moving as he gently dabs the medicated ointment over any visible injuries. The teenager wrinkles his nose at the strong herbal smell but otherwise doesn’t budge, letting JinJin finish up with minimal fuss.

“There,” he murmurs, leaning back to grab a tissue from the box nearby and wipe the excess ointment from his fingers. “All done.”

Sanha reaches up, stopping just short of touching his face, but seems to think better of it and lowers his hand again, sending JinJin a small but genuine smile.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for my favourite cousin.”

The teen’s smile curls a little wider. “Hyung, I’m your _only_ cousin.”

“Semantics.” Jinwoo waves away the comment with a casual gesture, then stands up from the couch, stretching out his back with a groan. “You wanna go visit the café? There’s a couple of friends I’d like you to meet.”

As expected, Sanha’s eyes light up in interest at the proposition. Ever since Jinwoo started helping to run _Fatagio Café_ back during his first term at university, it’s been a regular topic of conversation between himself and Sanha. Probably has something to do with the kid’s affinity for anything music-related; when Jinwoo had set up _Fantagio’s_ YouTube page to help promote the artists who would perform at the café  on their ‘Live Nights’ (street musicians or underground soloists who wanted to share their talent with Seoul in a more comfortable atmosphere), Sanha had called him the very next morning to Fanboy at him down the phone.

_“You had Billy Acoustie playing in your bar, hyung, oh my **god**! Did you get his autograph? Please tell me you at least got him to sign a napkin or something. Hyung, if you see him again, you gotta tell him how much I love his new digital single. Tell him he’s the greatest guitarist of the twenty-first century, okay? Those exact words, hyungie, promise me!”_

Despite Sanha’s fascination with the music-café, he’s never actually been there in person (although given how avidly he follows JinJin’s Instagram and YouTube account, he probably knows the inside of the building by heart). Even though they’ve met up often enough these past couple of years, it’s generally been _Jinwoo_ who’s done the visiting (it’s a long journey from the kid’s boarding school, and JinJin never much liked the idea of Sanha travelling long distances on his own), indulging in a rare weekend off work to catch a train to the city stop nearest to his cousin’s school so that he could take the kid out for Korean barbeque.

“You mean it?” the teenager asks, brimming with a familiar sort of eagerness that JinJin is relieved to see in him.

The elder nods, reaching out to lightly ruffle Sanha’s pastel-pink hair. “I promised Binnie I’d stop by to check up on things. Saturday afternoons can be a little crazy, they might need an extra pair of hands.”

“I can help,” Sanha supplies brightly, and Jinwoo huffs a fond laugh.

“You can help by sitting at a table and eating cake,” he tells the teenager, offering Sanha a hand to haul him up from the couch. “You’re too skinny, kid. I’ll introduce you to Rocky, he’ll soon get some meat on your bones.”

It’s one of Park Minhyuk’s many talents. Nobody can resist his baked goods; nobody with functioning taste buds, at least. MJ frequently bemoans the fact that his tummy _“looks softer than it used to”_ because of it, but Rocky still manages to coax him into eating sweet treats during his breaks at the café. JinJin’s more than a little indebted to him for it; MJ had briefly struggled with negative self-image and body dysmorphia back when they were teens in high school (in what had been the most heart-wrenching four months of JinJin’s entire life) so to see him eat well is comforting. He remembers all too well those long weeks back when he was sixteen spent trying to encourage his boyfriend to _eat something, anything,_ to speak to their school counsellor, to go and see a doctor, to talk to his parents. In the end, the older boy had finally agreed to do all of the above, and little by little in the weeks that had followed MJ’s smile had grown happier and more genuine, his laugh lighter and less forced, his lean body filling out again to the healthy squishiness JinJin had always known.

Every now and then, Myungjun will have a Bad Day, but they’re getting better at handling them as a couple – MJ will get out of bed and hang up a shirt over the bedroom vanity, and JinJin will be careful to compliment his boyfriend even more than usual that day. Both Dongmin and Binnie know not to remove the sheet of paper taped over the bathroom mirror whenever it appears, and they don’t mention its presence either. They’re pretty awesome like that.

“JinJin-hyung?”

“Mm?” Jinwoo blinks, drawn from his thoughts, and feels his brow crease a little at the sudden look of apprehension of Sanha’s face. He reaches out to hold the teen’s wrist gently “Hey. You okay?”

Sanha lowers his gaze, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. “That stuff we talked about just now…don’t tell the others, okay? Please, hyung. I…I don’t want anyone else knowing what happened. Promise me?”

Nodding slowly, Jinwoo gives the youth’s hand a gentle squeeze. Honestly, he’s been expecting as much. Despite the kid’s chatterbox nature, Sanha’s always been private about the things that upset him most; his mother’s death, his life at boarding school, his relationship with his father. The teenager happens to be _very_ good at changing the subject, with a knack for conversational segues that he’s definitely picked up from MJ over the years, and it isn’t often that you can get something out of him if he’s feeling inclined to keep it to himself.

Jinwoo doesn’t much like the idea of keeping secrets from MJ (especially something so _significant_ and concerning), but he’d rather maintain Sanha’s trust than go spilling his wounded heart to his soulmate, especially if doing so means that his cousin might open up to him again in the near future.

“I promise,” he murmurs, giving the long-fingered hand another squeeze before tilting his head towards the doorway. “It's cold out. Go grab something warm from my closet, okay? I've got a couple of big hoodies that should fit you at a pinch, but I'm sure Binnie wouldn't mind if you had to borrow a jacket for the day."

Sanha’s tiny, relieved smile is impossibly cute, and JinJin keeps from smushing the teen’s cheeks through sheer willpower (and from the knowledge that doing so will probably only aggravate his injuries). Jinwoo watches him go, his own smile slipping a little as he drags a hand down his face, exhaling a tired sigh.

 _Aish._ He needs cake.

 

* * *

 

**_Come find me on[Tumblr!](https://crooked-inkwell.tumblr.com/)_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, my poor baby Sanha will get LOTS OF LOVE in the coming chapters. I just felt it was necessary for JinJin to sit down with him and talk about things. Fluffier content may now resume. :)
> 
> Also, don't get me wrong, I definitely don't think MJ has any sort of eating disorder/self-image problem in real life (that queen loves his food and unapologetically hates exercise, and I love him for it), but also he's human an vulnerable, and who didn't struggle a little during high school? It's also one of the reasons JinJin and the others are hella protective of MJ. <3 
> 
> You'll get to meet Rocky and a few BTS characters in the next chapter! :)  
> xxx


	5. Fantagio Café

.

Myungjun balances the heavily laden tray on the flat of his hand with practiced ease, fingers splayed to distribute the weight more evenly as he weaves his way between the rows of packed tables, heading towards the secluded alcoves that line the far wall of the spacious café. Pushing the thin gauze curtain aside, he steps into the private booth, a cheery smile in place.

“Thank you for waiting,” he says politely, carefully laying out the assortment of foodstuffs in front of the customers. “Unfortunately we sold the last slice of strawberry shortcake a few minutes ago – sorry about that, Youngjae – but here’s a piece of today’s speciality cheesecake, free of charge.”

The singer waves a hand to decline the charity. “Hyung, no, let me pay – you’ve done so much for me already-”

“No really, it’s on the house,” MJ presses, sliding the dessert in front of the younger man with a friendly smile. “Consider it a belated ‘congratulations on your debut’ gift from all of us here at _Fantagio._ ”

“But Rocky already made me a cake,” Youngjae attempts to protest, although MJ doesn’t miss the way he eyes his dessert like a man starved (topped artistically with halved strawberries and sweetened whipped cream, it does look pretty fucking delicious). “And let’s be real, I wouldn’t even _have_ a career if it wasn’t for you guys.”

The man sitting beside Youngjae wraps an arm around his shoulders, grinning as he ruffles the singer’s hair. “I kinda miss the apron, though – that _Fantagio_ uniform looked pretty good on you.”

The man turns his enthusiastic attention towards Myungjun. “Speaking of which, who’s the cutie I saw setting things up onstage? Is he new?”

“You mean Heejun?” MJ passes Jackson a heaped bowl of mango shaved ice before tucking the now-empty tray beneath his arm. “He’s been with _Fantagio_ a couple of months now _._ Inseong found him on YouTube after he did a collab with Yoojung; his ballad covers are pretty popular. He’s due to start playing in about twenty minutes, if you’d care to stick around.”

“Explains why the place is so packed today,” Jinyoung comments, spoon digging into his own dessert. “Sorry for taking up a booth when you’re so busy, Myungjun-ah.”

MJ waves away the apology with a smile. To be honest, they _had_ admittedly designed the booths to accommodate larger groups (fitting up to ten people, at a pinch), but the price for reserving them was the same regardless of party size. Besides, _GOT4_ are regulars at _Fantagio,_ and MJ totally understands the need for privacy now that they’re beginning to gain popularity as idols. Nobody wants a dozen teenagers with smartphones documenting every bite you take.

A part of him feels a little wistful that the trainees he’d befriended two years ago are suddenly growing up and going places while he himself had given up on his dreams of being an idol long, _long_ ago; but then he remembers all the reasons why he decided _not_ to follow the trainee path, and his regrets vanish in an instant. The intense dance training, the dieting, the pressure of looking good all the time, constantly having people criticize his body or talk about his weight...aish, it was all just so _unappealing._ He loves music, probably almost as much as he loves art, but definitely not enough to sacrifice his happiness. He has JinJin, he has _Fantagio,_ he has friends who love him – there’s not much else he could wish for out of life.

 _GOT4_ have been looking a little more tired than usual lately, and it’s obvious the busy debut schedule is taking a toll on them. MJ makes a mental note to pack up some cupcakes to-go; Rocky’s baking always had a way of making people feel better about their day.

“So, this Heejun…” Jackson mentions, quirking an eyebrow in interest. “Is he single?”

“Oh god,” Jaebum mutters from the seat opposite the rapper, and beside him Jinyoung takes a fortifying sip of his coffee, looking both pained and resigned. “Here we go again.”

Myungjun swallows back a snort (he might consider the idol group to be friends of his, but it still wouldn’t be polite to laugh at their relationship troubles), and shakes his head with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, he’s taken.” He parts the curtain behind him by a couple of inches and nods towards an occupied table nearby, where Dongmin’s conversing quietly with two of his friends. “You see mister tall, dark and handsome sitting on the left? That’s Heejunnie’s boyfriend, Park Seungjun.”

“Oh.” Jackson’s leaning forward to peer between the gap, wide-eyed. “Oh _wow._ Holy fuck, he’s _tall._ ”

“He’s a model,” MJ elaborates. “Eunwoo met him at Seoul Fashion Week a few months back.”

One of the many benefits of having a friend like Dongmin is the clientele he inevitably brings to _Fantagio._ Working as a part-time model and actor has certainly expanded the law student’s friend-circle beyond the bookish academics that he would generally hang out with at university. The change seemed to have happened almost overnight – once upon a time Dongmin had simply been MJ’s handsome but endearingly nerdy roommate who would occasionally help out at the café when they were short-staffed, but then all of a sudden famous Instagram models and other minor celebrities were calling him _Cha Eunwoo_ and tweeting selfies with Dongmin taken at various fashion shoots.

 _“It was Binnie’s idea,”_ Dongmin had confessed, flushed with embarrassment after MJ had shrieked upon discovering that _#FaceGenius_ was trending on twitter alongside photos of the man’s latest magazine shoot. _“The whole ‘Cha Eunwoo’ thing, I mean. We figured if I’m going to be a judge someday, I probably don’t want people constantly associating my real name with my modelling work, you know? This way Lee Dongmin can stay a student without all the hassle.”_

Unfortunately for him, Dongmin had truly underestimated his popularity (how a man born with a face like _that_ could remain so humble, MJ would never know), and when his growing fanbase had eventually discovered that _the_ Cha Eunwoo himself was an occasional waiter at one of Seoul’s newest live-music cafés, they’d come flocking to _Fantagio_ en masse.

Seokjin had been _delighted;_ Eunwoo less so.

Dongmin doesn’t work at the café anymore (his own schedule keeps him busy enough, between acting and modelling and working his ass off as a law student), but he still stops by most days for a cup of green tea and a bite to eat. Mostly to flirt with Moonbin, in all honesty. But he always brings along some of his pretty model friends, and although Myungjun is a loyal man (Jinwoo is his one and only, it’s a given fact), there’s no harm in ogling a little eye-candy.

“Wait, who is _that?”_

“Hm?” MJ peers back through the curtain towards the table in time to see a tall, slim newcomer with styled reddish hair pull back from hugging Dongmin to slip into the unoccupied chair next to Taehyung. “Oh, that’s BamBam. Instagram model. He’s studying fashion tech with Tae at Seoul University.”

Jackson’s already pulled out his phone, tapping away on the screen, and Myungjun breathes a quiet laugh.

“You’re not gonna be able to spell his name right the first time,” the artist tells him knowingly. “Bam’s from Thailand. Here, let me.”

He takes the offered device, thumbs dancing across the screen briefly as he quickly finds Kunpimook’s Instagram account.

“You know, you’re actually kinda his type,” he muses aloud, passing the phone back to Jackson with a sly smile. “And I happen to know that he’s hella single right now, just FYI.”

Across the table Jaebum actually facepalms, groaning in apparent despair as Jinyoung narrows his eyes at MJ over his cup of coffee.

“Kim Myungjun, you absolute _traitor._ ”

MJ blows the man a kiss and quickly ducks back out of the booth with a cheery _“enjoy your desserts”,_ closing the curtain again before the younger singer decides to come after him in retaliation. He and Jinyoung might be same-age friends, but the idol is both taller and stronger than MJ by a fair bit, and it’s never a smart idea to anger him on a good day, let alone when he’s sleep-deprived after working an exhausting debut schedule. He’ll give the man time to cool down…and then he’ll bring a to-go box of cupcakes as a peace offering. Nobody, not even Park Jinyoung, can possibly stay mad him when there’s _free cake._

He turns to head back towards the front section of the café, but Dongmin chooses that moment to pause in his conversation and glance up at him, his smile wide and excited and _oh,_ now MJ’s curiosity is piqued.

“Well, if it isn’t Cha Eunwoo, my favourite customer,” he says brightly (because teasing Dongmin is always, _always_ fun). “What’s put such a big smile on your face? Or are you just happy to see me?”

The model rolls his eyes at the greeting, but his grin doesn’t lessen in its intensity.

“I did it! I got the part,” Dongmin tells him happily. “For the pretzel CF.”

Taehyung claps a hand down on the younger man’s shoulder, beaming proudly. “You’re looking at the future face of _Nongshim._ ”

Myungjun shrieks in surprise and delight (he hadn’t even known his roommate was due to audition today, holy fuck), throwing his arms around Dongmin in a tight hug. He hears a quiet ripple of girlish giggling from a nearby table, and what sounds suspiciously like a camera shutter, but he’s been working at _Fantagio_ long enough to have grown accustomed to the fangirls that frequent the café. It’s no secret that a lot of the waiting staff are minor artists or trainees hoping to earn a little cash on the side in an environment where they’ll also have the opportunity to showcase their talent – _GOT4_ isn’t the first group to debut with an idol who once worked at _Fantagio –_ so the eatery has become a popular student hangout during weekends and after school.

There also may or may not be a fansite dedicated to certain members of the full-time waiting staff. _Astro,_ the fans have taken to calling them – _“boys who came from the stars”._ It’s hella cheesy, but pretty harmless overall. And it definitely brings a lot of custom to the café. Seokjin’s already had one producer asking to shoot a reality TV show here, but thankfully he’d turned down the offer. Besides, their own YouTube channel has plenty of followers without the added promotion – their daily uploads of live performances ensure that the viewers don’t lose interest, and the regular shoutouts from _Bangtan Dance Studio_ (mostly curtesy of Jimin and Hoseok, who run the dance group’s channel) has really increased their popularity these past six months or so.

“Congratulations!” he enthuses, pulling back to give the younger man a proud smile. “You’re gonna do great, Dongu. Have you told the others yet? Oh my god, does Binnie know?”

“Does Binnie know what?” Moonbin parrots, coming up behind MJ suddenly, tray held carefully in both hands (because Bin is a giant, clumsy baby who breaks dishes whenever he tries to balance things – it was a lesson they’d all learned the hard way).

“Nothing exciting,” Dongmin replies, with a convincingly neutral expression (aish, _actors,_ they’re all so sneaky). He takes the drinks from Moonbin’s tray and passes them out to his friends, then accepts the iced green tea and vanilla cupcake for himself. “Just that BamBam changed his mind and he’d like a cupcake too, please.”

Moonbin smiles pleasantly and turns towards the red-haired model. “Sure thing! Which flavour would you like today? We’ve got vanilla, chocolate, lemon, matcha. Actually, Rocky just finished decorating a tray of banoffee cupcakes, if you’d like to try one? They’re new on the menu.”

“Sounds great,” the Thai model agrees. “Seungie-hyung, you want one too, right?”

Seungjun finally tears his besotted gaze away from where Heejun is still setting up his equipment on the raised stage at the far side of the café, giving Moonbin a cute eye-crinkling smile.

“Yes please.”

“Ugh, _fine,_ you’ve twisted my arm.” Taehyung stops playing with the straw of his iced smoothie and heaves a dramatic sigh, acting for all the world like he doesn’t have a massive sweet-tooth (MJ happens to know better). “Since it looks like we’re all treating ourselves today, I guess I’ll have one too.”

“Three banoffee cupcakes coming right up.” Moonbin flashes the men another cheerful smile and turns to hurry back towards the serving counter, very nearly tripping over a customer in the process and triggering another chorus of muffled giggles from the girls at the table nearby.

“Eunwoo,” BamBam whines softly, pouting towards the law student. “Why’d you put me on the spot like that? I’ve got a shoot tomorrow, I shouldn’t be eating desserts.”

“Oh.” Dongmin winces apologetically. “Sorry, I panicked.”

“Yeah, about that.” Bemused, Myungjun stares down at him. “How come you’re suddenly keeping things from Bin-ah? Don’t tell me you two are falling out. I don’t even know if I’m emotionally mature enough to offer advice when it comes to adult relationships; not really my area of expertise.”

Seungjun takes a sip of his latte, quirking an eyebrow at him curiously. “Haven’t you and JinJin been together since middle school?”

“Ohmygod, really?” Taehyung clutches a hand to his chest in his usual overdramatic fashion, lips parted in shock. “That’s like, what, ten years? Ai, cuuuuute! Hyung, that totally makes you a relationship _expert._ Tell me your secrets, teach me your ways.”

Laughing at the younger man’s faux-keenness, MJ shrugs. “Honestly, I’ve got no idea how he’s put up with me for so long. Guess you gotta find yourself a man who’s as patient as Jinwoo. I mean, we don’t really fight about stuff these days.”

“What, ever?” BamBam asks disbelievingly. “C’mon, you live with each other, you work with each other – you gotta fall out about _something_ every once in a while?”

Myungjun shrugs again, smiling. He knows it’s pretty unusual for couples _not_ to have a little domestic dispute over trivial things every now and then, but honestly it’s been _years_ since he last got into a proper argument with JinJin. Maybe it’s because they grew up together, and squabbled enough as children over silly things that by the time they reached their teenage years there was nothing left to fight about. Perhaps they’ve just instinctively learned what _not_ to say to trigger the other person off. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that arguing makes JinJin upset, and seeing his boyfriend cry is literally the worst thing _ever_ in the history of everything, so MJ goes to great lengths to avoid being the cause of it if at all possible.

“We’re not fighting,” Dongmin sighs, and quickly glances back over his shoulder to make sure Moonbin isn’t behind him.

Sensing the need for secrecy, MJ leans in close, holding up his tray to shield them from view (probably excessive, but he likes being dramatic every bit as much as Taehyung).

“If I tell him now, he’ll be buzzing for the rest of his shift,” the younger man confides, his voice hushed. “Hyung, you _know_ what he’s like when he gets excited.”

The _clumsy as fuck_ goes unsaid, but MJ hears it anyway.

Admittedly, Dongmin probably wouldn’t tack on the curse because he’s a goody-goody who was raised too pure, but the sentiment still holds true. Moonbin the Destroyer usually does his finest work when he’s sleepy (there’s a reason why Bin very rarely gets rostered into working the early-morning shift), but when he’s excited about something his penchant for destruction increases by a factor of twenty. MJ doesn’t even want to think about how many dishes Moonbin would inevitably end up breaking in his enthusiasm for life and all things Eunwoo- and pretzel-related if he heard the good news partway through his shift.

“What are you two doing behind that tray, and should I be feeling jealous?”

Dongmin pushes MJ away and smiles up at his boyfriend sweetly. “No.”

“Yes,” Myungjun counters, simply to be contrary.

Moonbin eyes them with amused suspicion, before turning his attention towards the actual paying customers with another friendly smile, passing out the cupcakes. Taehyung and BamBam immediately begin working out the best angle for their Instagram cupcake-selfies, and MJ rolls his eyes with a fond sigh. _Models._

He excuses himself quickly and turns to head back towards the serving counter, but not before shooting a quick smile and cute finger-hearts towards the group of teenagers watching him from their table a few feet away (he always guarantees the _best_ customer service, and seeing the girls react to his aegyo is pretty satisfying too). He’s still grinning when he slips behind the counter to stow away his tray, grabbing a cloth to wipe down the drinks-prep area next to the coffee machines.

“What, no love for me?”

Turning, Myungjun flutters his eyelashes at the newcomer, drying off his hands on the front of his _Fantagio_ apron.

“Well, baby, since it’s you…” He turns sideways and reaches for something with both hands, then spins back around with his hands pressed together to form a heart.

Hoseok gasps, miming snatching the heart from him and clutching it to his chest with one hand, pulling his other from the pocket of his jacket to pass his own finger-heart to MJ in exchange. The artist dutifully accepts the transfer, slipping it back into the front of his apron for ‘safekeeping’ as per their usual tradition.

“Triple-seven latte?” he guesses, already reaching for the necessary equipment.

“Mmm, god bless you.” Hoseok moves to perch on one of the barstools nearby. “Can I get it to go? I’m teaching Jimin’s class at four, he’s still caught up filming choreo with Taemin-ssi. And Kookie’s out of town until tomorrow, so that just leaves me trying to cover six classes on my own until… _heeey_. If it isn’t Rocky, my favourite dongsaeng.”

MJ glances over his shoulder to where the nineteen-year-old is carefully sliding a new tray of pastel-coloured macarons into the glass display cabinet nearby.

“Hi, hyung,” the younger dancer returns distractedly, fully focused on his task.

Hoseok leans further across the countertop, working his pout with full force. “Rocky, baby, when are you gonna come teach at my dance school?”

Minhyuk straightens up, his lips quirking up in a tiny little smile that he’s clearly trying to suppress, dusting a streak of icing sugar from his cheek as he turns to face the choreographer.

“When I finish school,” Rocky promises, the same way he does every time _Bangtan’s_ leader comes at him with that particular open invitation.

Heaving a dramatic sigh, Hoseok puts his chin in his hand, elbow braced on the edge of the counter. “It feels like you’ve been in school _forever,_ Hyukkie.”

“Tell me about it,” the teenager mutters, carefully rearranging the position of various baked goods in the display case, working deftly with the pastry tongs. “But you’ll have to wait a couple more months. Binnie-hyung would kill me if I dropped out before graduation.”

“Damn right I would,” Moonbin confirms, popping up out of nowhere in that cat-like way of his, startling all three of them. “School’s important.”

“Ugh.” Rocky wrinkles his nose at the older man. “Now you sound like Dongmin-hyung.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Bin remarks, gently tugging on the straps of Minhyuk’s apron to straighten it. “There’s a reason he graduated top of our class.”

Minhyuk glances back towards Myungjun with a desperate sort of look, and the artist takes pity on him, pausing in his latte preparation to pull the teenager away from Moonbin’s incessant fussing.

“Leave my baby alone,” he chides, giving Rocky a tight backhug. “He’s doing great, and _Fantagio_ would be lost without him.”

Deflating a little, his expression apologetic, Moonbin reaches for the teen again. “Rocky, I didn’t mean it like that-”

“I know.” The younger dancer slips out of MJ’s hold to bump his shoulder against Moonbin’s, grinning even as he rolls his eyes. “Look, I promised you I’d finish school, so I will. You don’t have to nag at me so much, _eomma._ ”

The elder boy shoves at him lightly in retaliation, but he’s smiling, and MJ returns his attention to Hoseok’s drink as Moonbin grabs a tray and a cloth and heads back out to the seating area to clean up a recently-vacated table.

“Here you are.” Myungjun passes the steaming carafe to the waiting dancer. “One triple-seven to go.”

Hoseok immediately pops the lid off to breathe in the aromatic steam rising from the speciality beverage. “You’re a lifesaver,” he moans, and slides his discount card across the counter along with a handful of notes. “You have no idea how much I’ve been craving this. Thanks, babe.”

“Anything to make you happy, handsome,” MJ flirts back, scanning the card quickly and tapping the screen to finish the order.

“Speaking of happy…” Hoseok mentions, his voice low. “Looks like someone else could use a little pick-me-up. Sad puppy alert at three o’clock.”

MJ pauses in collecting Hobi’s change from the till, glancing up towards the shop entrance in time to see a very familiar figure stepping into the café, pale-pink hair a little mussed from the strong wind outside. Sanha’s wearing one of Jinwoo’s jackets, and while it was usually a little baggy on his boyfriend, it fits the teenager like a glove, highlighting his tall, slender frame. Aigoo, the kid really has shot up these past six months. He’s finally grown into those big, clumsy feet that had sent him tripping so often as a pre-teen, and it suits him.

His face, though…aish. Sanha’s still got the same cute, babyish features – small mouth, small nose, soft chin, big eyes. But the similarities only serve to highlight how horribly out-of-place the cuts and bruises seem. Even though the swelling appears to have gone down significantly (hopefully Jinwoo had been sensible enough to ice the injuries, which is what they really ought to have done first thing that morning), the bluish-red mottling that streaks across the youth’s cheekbone and around his eye socket is difficult to miss.

“Junnie?” Hoseok’s watching his expression in concern, his own smile slipping. “Is everything alright?” He glances between MJ and Sanha, who’s still lingering by the door to the café, nervously glancing around at all the patrons. “Do you know him?”

MJ nods, swallowing to keep his voice even. “That’s my cousin. Well, technically he’s Jinwoo’s cousin, but the two of us kinda helped raise him together. Sanha…he’s going through a rough patch just now. He’ll be living with us for a little while. Do me a favour and don’t ask him about his face, okay?”

As he watches, Jinwoo enters through the café doors behind Sanha, throwing a casual arm around the teenager in a side-hug. The younger boy’s nervous expression softens to a shy smile, and a moment later he laughs at something JinJin says. The light, bubbling sound carries back to the serving counter, and the tightness in MJ’s chest immediately eases.

“What does he like?”

Myungjun glances sideways at Minhyuk, finding him watching the younger teenager with an unreadable expression.

“Sanha,” Rocky elaborates. “What sort of desserts does he like?”

With a soft, grateful smile blooming on his face, MJ reaches out to squeeze the younger man’s wrist.

“Sanha’s not a fussy eater,” he says quietly. “But he loves anything colourful; the cuter, the better. Thanks, Rocky.”

The younger man gives a single, decisive nod and slips away quietly, disappearing through the door that leads into the kitchens. MJ quickly finishes counting up Hoseok’s change, but the dancer waves him off with a smile.

“Keep it,” he insists distractedly, and turns to call out towards the newcomers. “Hey, JinJin!”

Jinwoo steers Sanha over to the serving counter and into one of the barstools there, before letting Hoseok pull him into a one-armed embrace, the man’s precious coffee held up and out of the way to avoid a spillage.

“Hi,” the younger dancer greets, then glances towards the clock mounted on the wall above the drinks station. “Don’t you have a class to teach in three minutes?”

Hoseok heaves a sigh. “Yeah, man, I missed you too.”

“We literally saw each other last night, hyung.”

“I get easily attached. Myungjunnie, light of my life, please teach your boy to respect a man’s sensitivities.” Hoseok blows MJ a kiss, wrinkles his nose playfully at Jinwoo, then gives Sanha a friendly smile and a little wave. “We’ll have to do proper introductions later, Sanha-ssi. I gotta run. See ya!”

Sanha watches him go with an endearingly bewildered expression, although there’s definitely a touch of awe there too.

“Was that J-Hope?” the teen asks faintly. “Like, _Bangtan’s_ J-Hope?”

“Mm, don’t worry about him. He tends to give people whiplash the first few times,” JinJin confirms. “You get used to it.”

Coming around the counter, Jinwoo wraps his arms around MJ in a tight backhug, rocking side to side for a moment as he hums happily. Myungjun relaxes back in the hold, hands coming up to rest over the sleeves of his boyfriend’s jacket.

“So what have you guys been up to today?” he asks cheerfully, sending Sanha a bright smile as the youth fidgets in place on his stool.

“Shopping,” the teenager replies with an exaggerated pout. “Hyung tricked me.”

“You needed warmer clothes,” JinJin reminds him, fondly amused. “And at least we got the boring part out of the way with, right? Besides, you liked the bee onesie we found.”

Sanha’s pout morphs into a pleased little smile. “It’s so cute! MJ-hyung, we wanted to get one for you too, but they didn’t have it in a smaller size.”

MJ hears JinJin’s poorly-disguised snort of laughter behind him, and narrows his eyes towards the teenager, bent wrists planted on his hips in the exaggerated ‘old man’ pose he usually favours when playfully scolding his dongsaengs.

“Yah,” he drawls, changing the tone of his voice to suit the character. “Who are you calling small?”

The teenager snatches up one of the colourful laminated menus to hide his face, but MJ doesn’t miss the kid’s wide grin or the familiar childish giggle that bubbles out of him. Satisfied, Myungjun relaxes his posture, his own smile curling at his lips as he nudges back against Jinwoo.

“Youngjae and the others are here, by the way,” he mentions. “JYP’s finally letting them breathe for, like, thirty seconds. You mind checking to see if they need anything?”

“Sure,” JinJin agrees readily. “Let me go get changed real quick, I’ll be out in minute.”

As Jinwoo heads towards the locked door that leads to the staff changing rooms, Myungjun returns his attention to Sanha, who’s busy reading through the menu with an expression of utmost concentration under Moonbin’s gentle guidance.

“If you want something that’s gonna give you energy, I’d go for one of the booster smoothies,” the dancer’s saying, arm settling around Sanha’s shoulders as they lean over the menu together. “Healthy carbohydrates and antioxidants are always a good way to go. This one’s my personal favourite…”

“Moonbin’s our resident fitness enthusiast,” Myungjun informs the teen wryly. “He basically designed the ‘lighter options’ menu singlehandedly. Admittedly, all the finished products taste pretty awesome, but his first few attempts?” He shudders dramatically. “Just be glad you didn’t have to suffer through Binnie’s testing-phase back home. I can’t even _look_ at a broccoli anymore without getting nauseous.”

Sanha’s surveys the list of drinks a little more warily. “I don’t really like feeling _healthy_ when I eat.”

“Aw, go on, just give it a try,” Moonbin coaxes with a smile. “Please? For me? I promise it’ll taste good.”

The man’s wheedling seems to win over the teenager, who gives a little nod of assent and closes the menu.

“Alright, hyung. Surprise me.”

Grinning, Moonbin gently ruffles the kid’s hair shoots MJ a smug sort of look. Okay, so _maybe_ they’ve got a teeny-tiny sort of playful rivalry going on between them about who can make the best beverage, and _maybe_ Myungjun had been dumb enough to suggest a few months back that nobody ever came to _Fantagio_ to eat healthily, and _maybe_ Moonbin had taken that as an excuse to mark down a tally of just how many people ordered items off the ‘lighter options’ menu. In MJ’s defence, he hadn’t expected Dongmin to suddenly start befriending so many models and actors (most of them fitness-enthusiasts simply by lifestyle choice), and after some of them had started Instagramming photos of Binnie’s concoctions, well…

Now they have to assign at least two members of staff to run the smoothie station in the kitchen first thing every morning, simply to cater to all the early-bird gymaholics.

“Here.”

Myungjun’s drawn from his thoughts by Rocky’s quiet voice, turning to find the younger man sliding a colourful ice cream parfait in front of Sanha. The startled teenager blinks in surprise, peering down at the proffered dessert, and half a beat later he’s sucking in a sharp gasp, eyes lighting up excitedly.

“Oh my god, it’s got a _face!”_ Sanha exclaims in obvious delight. “Hyung, look, it’s a cat!”

Stepping closer, MJ admires Rocky’s handiwork – the glass dish is filled a colourful mixture of cream and fruit and cheesecake pieces, topped with a giant scoop of vanilla ice cream and artistic swirls of whip. Small cookies and chocolate pieces have been used to create the cat’s features and paws, with two triangular jelly sweets giving it colourful ears. It’s probably the cutest fucking thing Rocky’s ever made, and Myungjun’s so grateful he could _kiss_ the boy.

“I wasn’t sure what flavours you’d like,” Rocky explains a little awkwardly, fingers fiddling with hem of his apron. “But I figured vanilla was a pretty safe option. I can make you something else though, it’s okay-”

“Nonono, this is _perfect,_ thank you so much! _”_ the younger teenager enthuses, flashing Rocky a wide, happy smile as he fumbles to fish his phone out of his pocket. “It’s just so _cute,_ oh my god, you’re amazing.”

Rocky’s cheeks are beginning to flush a pale shade of pink, but there’s a tiny smile curling at his own mouth, and he ducks his head with a self-conscious little huff.

“It’s no big deal.”

“Are you kidding?” MJ interjects, because seeing Minhyuk lose his _swag_ in the face of Sanha’s genuine happiness is probably the best thing that’s happened to him today. “Rocky, that’s probably the most adorable thing you’ve ever made, you’re a _genius._ ”

Minhyuk’s cheeks redden further, and he sends MJ a _look._ “What are you talking about? I make desserts like that all the time, hyung.”

“Then this is definitely my new favourite place,” Sanha insists, oblivious to the expression-war going on between the other two, busy taking half a dozen photos of his frozen treat. But he pauses suddenly, and glances up towards Minhyuk. “Wait, you’re _Rocky-ssi?_ From _Bangtan?_ ”

“Rocky-hyung,” the elder teenager corrects gently, his confidence sliding back into place. “You follow our dance group?”

Sanha nods enthusiastically, picking up his spoon. “Your cover of _Good Boy_ was so awesome. Honestly, you’re probably even better than JinJin-hyung, but please don’t tell him I said that – he might get upset. Ohhmergergh, hyung…”

The teenager moans around his mouthful, clutching a hand to his chest as he chews slowly, clearly savouring the taste.

“This is the best thing _ever,_ I love you so much right now.”

Wide-eyed, Rocky clears his throat and fidgets in place. “I, uh, I should probably get back to the kitchen,” he says faintly. “See you around, Sanha.”

“Bye!” the pastel-haired teen calls, waving cheerfully at Minhyuk’s retreating figure, apparently oblivious to the impact of his effortless aegyo as he tucks back into his dessert with gusto.

“Well, would you look at that,” Moonbin’s amused voice suddenly murmurs next to MJ’s ear, giving the man a minor heart attack. “Rocky has a weakness after all. Interesting.”

Indeed. _Very interesting._

 

 

* * *

 

**_For anyone who might be wondering what Sanha's parfait is supposed to look like:_ **

**_Come find me on[Tumblr!](https://crooked-inkwell.tumblr.com/) :)_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rocky also likes cute things, just FYI. 
> 
> Things are looking up for Sanha at last. He's got a few new hyungs, a nice dessert, some warm clothes, a place to stay...I'm definitely not gonna make him sad in the next chapter, not at all. *nervous laugh*
> 
> So, the GOT7 members kinda snuck their way into this story unexpectedly. We'll get to meet the 'dance team' soon (Bangtan is J-Hope's dance crew, and it's basically just a mishmash of all the best dancers from different kpop groups), and if anyone has a burning desire to see Sanha interacting with specific idols, feel free to let me know. :)
> 
> Groups who will probably be getting some sort of cameo at one point or another:  
> KNK, BTS, GOT7, MonstaX, WekiMeki, HelloVenus, Seventeen...  
> Basically too many to list in the story tags. But the cameos will vary from actual interactions to vague mentions and name-dropping, so if you don't know any of the above groups then chances are you won't even notice. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Incoming Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble's brewing.

.

“Go! Quickly, he’s right behind you!”

“Oh my god, _oh my god!”_

“Sanha, hurry! You’re almost there! Go faster!”

“I’m _trying,_ hyung!”

Leaning casually against the doorjamb to the living room, Jinwoo surveys the scene before him with a quiet grin, warmth stirring in his chest as five frantic voices clamour over each other with increasing urgency. He should’ve anticipated that bringing another avid gamer in the household would inevitably result in an epic _Mario Kart Wii_ tournament – it was practically an initiation ceremony, at least as far as Minhyuk and Moonbin were concerned.

The two dancers are currently seated on the floor in front of the couch, Sanha between them, plastic _Nintendo Wii_ controllers held tightly in white-knuckled grips as they steer their way towards the finish line. Dongmin, who’s clearly racing just for the fun of it, is seated on the couch directly behind Moonbin, and seems to be paying far more attention to his boyfriend’s pending victory than his own doomed racer (who he appears to have driven over the edge of the waterfall in his distraction).

The scene is somehow one of both unbridled chaos and comfortable domesticity _,_ and Jinwoo isn’t sure when _this_ became the ideal picture of homely bliss, but he’d given up questioning his eclectic preferences years ago. Being attached at the hip to someone like MJ, he's found that life becomes a whole lot less complicated when you just go with the flow.

Moonbin suddenly gives a wounded cry, echoed seconds later by Rocky but effectively drowned out by Myungjun (who seems to have made it his personal goal this evening to act as Sanha’s unofficial one-man cheerleading squad), the artist whooping in excitement and practically bouncing in his seat on the couch behind Sanha as the teenager lowers his controller, beaming happily.

“Yoon San-ha! Yoon San-ha!” MJ chants, pumping his fists in the air as the younger boy laughs.

“Duuude, you’re too good,” Minhyuk groans, bumping his shoulder against Sanha’s playfully. “Bin-hyung’s never lost this many games in a row before.”

“I can’t believe you broke my lucky streak,” Moonbin gripes, but it’s obvious he’s teasing, leaning back with a heavy sigh to rest against Dongmin’s legs. “Yah, who launched that blue shell on the last lap? I was about to _win._ ”

Sanha shakes his head with a laugh. “It wasn’t me, hyung, I swear. Bananas all the way.”

“Not me,” Rocky denies, when the elder dancer turns a suspicious look in his direction. “Ask your boyfriend.”

“Who, me? You know I’d never,” Dongmin simpers sweetly, an all-too-innocent smile curling at his lips.

Moonbin tips his head back to stare up at the aspiring model, eyes narrowing at his boyfriend’s answering grin, gasping dramatically as his lips part in affronted shock.

“You little _sneak._ ”

Myungjun cackles and quickly moves out of the way as Moonbin launches a tickle-attack against his traitorous boyfriend, Dongmin’s resultant giggling easily drowning out the game’s award-ceremony music. Sanha laughs, lifting a hand to cover his mouth politely, his eyes bright with mirth as he lets Rocky tug him a safe distance away from Dongmin’s flailing legs.

Jinwoo’s smile softens as he observes his cousin, relief adding further warmth to the fondness already pulsing pleasantly beneath his sternum. It’s the first time he’s seen the teenager looking _genuinely_ happy and carefree since he first arrived yesterday morning, and it’s a welcome sight.

The youth’s injuries (although slowly beginning to heal) are still glaringly obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes, but for the moment Sanha seems to have forgotten about them entirely, swept up in the excitement of the game and probably still buzzing from a _Baskin Robbins_ induced sugar-high (entirely Dongmin’s doing – the man always brings home huge tubs of the stuff on Game Nights). And even though Jinwoo’s certain they’ll be getting noise complaints from the downstairs neighbours tomorrow morning, he’s disinclined to put a stop to their fun. Not when Sanha’s having such a good time.

“JinJin-hyung!” the teenager pipes up cheerfully, holding out his _Wii_ controller. “You should play in the next race.”

“And give Binnie a fighting chance?” Jinwoo remarks, pushing away from the doorframe and crossing over to join the group, slipping onto the couch behind Sanha and squeezing the teen’s shoulder. “Think I’ll pass. Trust me, I’m having plenty of fun watching you beat his ego into the ground.”

“Hell yeah,” Rocky agrees, and promptly ninja-rolls to avoid the cushion Moonbin chucks at his head, bashing into the side of the coffee table and sending a few things tumbling to the floor.

“Ai, careful! You’ll hurt yourself,” Jinwoo fusses, half rising out of his seat, but Rocky’s already shifting up onto his knees with an embarrassed little grin, quickly gathering up the fallen items.

“Sorry, Sanha,” the dancer apologises, quickly checking the youth’s iPhone for damage before passing it across to him. “If it’s scratched or anything, I’ll pay for it.”

The teenager smiles and shakes his head, setting the device on the floor beside him. “Don’t worry, I’m always dropping it. That’s why I buy the padded cases – they bounce better, y’know?”

“M-hyung, do you want my controller?” Dongmin offers tiredly, still a little breathless from the recent tickle-attack, Moonbin now happily perched in his lap. “I think I need a break.”

Myungjun climbs over the back of the couch to wedge himself between Dongmin and Jinwoo, bumping elbows playfully when his boyfriend leans over to press a chaste peck to his cheek.

“Don’t distract me, hun. I have a race to win.”

Jinwoo bites back a grin. “Oh? Do you find me distracting?”

_“Very.”_

“Please stop,” Minhyuk begs, pulling an exaggeratedly pained expression as he rises up onto his knees, hands pressed together in supplication. “I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” MJ grins, arching an eyebrow at the youth. “An elderflower tea would be great.”

“I’d like Jasmine, please,” Dongmin requests pleasantly.

“Chocolate milk,” Moonbin tacks on without missing a beat.

Jinwoo laughs at the teen’s disgruntled expression. “Sorry, Rocky, you set yourself up for that one. And I’ll have a Sprite, thanks.”

“I can help,” Sanha offers cheerfully. “MJ-hyung’s fussy about his tea, but I know how to make it just right.”

Rocky’s expression changes in an instant, a pleased little smile curling at the corner of his mouth, and Jinwoo glances between the two teenagers curiously, ignoring Myungjun as his partner makes an affronted noise beside him.

“Yoon Sanha, just _who_ are you calling fussy?” MJ demands, feigning offence as the teenager giggles at him. “You take that _back-_ ”

A sharp buzzing sound cuts him off mid-sentence, and Sanha’s bright, bubbling laughter ceases immediately, his gaze lowered to where his cell phone is vibrating angrily on the floor beside his knee. The screen as lit up, the word _‘DAD’_ written across the top in white block-capitals, the font large enough that everyone in the room can easily see the caller ID.

Jinwoo settles a hand on Sanha’s shoulder, immediately feeling the tension there. The teenager seems frozen in place, staring down at his phone like it’s a ticking time bomb, his breathing suddenly fast and erratic.

“Sanha?” MJ presses, clearly sensing the sudden shift in mood.

In an aborted movement, the younger man reaches for the buzzing device before pulling his hand away just as quickly, fingers gripping at the sleeve of his new sweater as he presses a clenched fist to his mouth, eyes wide and uncertain.

Jinwoo watches the teenager’s chest stutter on another shaky breath, and abruptly makes up his mind.

Leaning down, he plucks the phone from the ground and rolls smoothly to his feet, stepping around Sanha and over Rocky’s legs, heading for the door at a brisk walk.

“Hyung, don’t!” Sanha calls after him, his voice wobbly and plaintive, and it’s _almost_ enough to stop him. _Almost._

Jinwoo hardens his heart and doesn’t let himself glance back towards the teen, quickening his pace and moving down the short hallway, heading into privacy of his own bedroom. He slaps a hand against the light switch and kicks the door closed behind him, taking a steeling breath before finally swiping his thumb against the green circle in the lower right-hand corner of the phone screen and lifting the device to his ear.

“Hello, Uncle,” he greets, his tone carefully controlled.

There’s a brief pause, then a slow, confused, _“Park Jinwoo?”_

“Yes,” he answers, short but polite.

The sigh on the other end of the line his heavy with fatigue. _“So he’s with you, then? Good. That…that’s good. I know you’ll look after him well.”_

Jinwoo clenches his free hand into a fist, stalking over to the window to look out at the city beyond, hoping the view might calm him a little. (It doesn’t.)

“It’s been two days,” he says, perhaps more harshly than he ought to. “ _Two days_ since he left Pyeongchang-gun, and you had no way of knowing for sure where he’d gone, or if he was safe. Why are you only calling him _now?”_

_“Sanha’s a sensible boy. I knew he’d make alternative arrangements without my involvement-”_

“He’s _seventeen,_ ” Jinwoo interrupts bluntly. “Seventeen years old. He’s just a _kid._ He shouldn’t have to be looking for a safe place to sleep at night.”

 _“I know it’s not an ideal situation, Jinwoo,”_ his uncle placates. _“And I’m sorry that he’s wound up on your doorstep like this, but I’m sure it’ll only be a temporary arrangement until his new school term begins. I’ll transfer additional funds into Sanha’s personal account – just ask him to withdraw whatever sum you feel is suitable to cover his living expenses. There’s no reason for him to be a financial burden; money isn’t an issue for me.”_

The padded plastic of Sanha’s phone case creaks in his iron-like grip. “I don’t want your charity. I want to know why my baby cousin showed up in Seoul yesterday morning looking like he’d been in a bar fight.”

There’s another lengthy pause; another weary sigh.

 _“Son, I realise how easy it might be to jump to conclusions about what happened,”_ the man reasons quietly. _“But the fall was an accident. Sanha left before I had a chance to apologise, I think perhaps he misunderstood-”_

“It’s been _two days,_ Uncle,” JinJin reiterates. “Two days and the injuries from his _accident_ are still healing.”

_“I’m not sure I understand what you’re implying here…”_

Jinwoo slams a palm against the wall beside the window. “What I’m _implying,_ Uncle, is that you were so piss-blind drunk you apparently mistook your own son for a goddamn punch-bag.”

 _“That’s enough! Don’t presume to understand something you weren’t a part of,”_ his uncle chastises sharply, his voice growing hoarse with emotion. _“Regardless of what you might think, that child means the world to me. I’ve done everything in my power to ensure he’s given every opportunity to succeed in life, but no father is entirely without fault. And Sanha understands that. We had a disagreement, I lost my temper, and the situation got a little out of hand. Look, just put him on the phone, will you? We need to talk.”_

The younger man shakes his head, even though the gesture will go unseen. “No. You’ve done enough damage already. If you’d like me to pass on a message, I can do that. But you’re not going to speak to him until he feels ready.”

His uncle gusts out a frustrated sigh. _“Son, you’re being difficult.”_

“I’m doing what I feel is in Sanha’s best interests,” JinJin counters firmly, his anger settling over him like an eerily detached sort of calmness. “And at the moment, that means keeping him here in Seoul and _away_ from you. He doesn’t feel safe in Pyeongchang-gun.”

 _“Aish.”_ The man sounds tired now; resigned, even. _“You’re overcomplicating things.”_

Time to pull out the big guns.

“I could get the police involved,” he counters neutrally. “I expect that would _really_ complicate things. The branch manager of a family-centred insurance firm getting investigated for child battery? I doubt that’d go down well with your board of governors.”

A beat of silence. Two beats. A shaky exhale.

_“What exactly do you want from me, Jinwoo?”_

The younger man swallows past the nervous lump in his throat (he’s running on pure false bravado here and nothing else, he hasn’t got a fucking _clue_ how things are supposed to proceed after this point) and ploughs onwards before his fear can get the better of him.

“I want legal guardianship,” he replies, relieved that his voice comes out levelly. “Or at least co-guardianship; enough so that I can help him out with signing school slips and medical forms. He’ll be staying with me until the new school term starts, and for any holidays thereafter. And that’s _if_ he decides to go back to boarding school – if he’d rather be closer to home, to _my_ home, then I want him enrolled in a local school here in Seoul. Sanha’s a smart kid, he’ll be able to get a scholarship to a private institute even if you don’t want to fund him; but I can guarantee it won’t cost half as much as the fees for the fancy academy you’ve got him going to at the moment.”

 _“You can’t just take away my parental rights,”_ Mr Yoon argues. _“I’m his father-”_

“And you _beat the shit out of him,”_ Jinwoo retorts sharply. “Believe me, the only reason I haven’t gone to the police already is because Sanha asked me not to. _Begged_ me not to, as a matter of fact. That kid’s sweet enough that he still loves you, even after all the shit you’ve put him through since Auntie passed away. But don’t push me; I’m not afraid to pursue legal action if I have to. Sanha might hate me for it, but I’d rather him be mad at me than see him hurt again at the hands of his own father.”

 _“For god’s sake, Jinwoo, I’m not a monster!”_ the man protests, exasperated. _“I know I’ve made mistakes, but he’s still my **son**. I love him.”_

Jinwoo sucks in a deep, calming breath, his eyes damp and his throat burning.

“Then do right by him,” he pleads. “For once in your life, Uncle, think about what’s best for _Sanha._ Get help. See a therapist or something, I don’t know. Stop drinking, for fuck’s sake. Stop blaming him for what happened to Auntie. Let him live the life _he_ wants.”

There’s a ragged sigh on the other end of the line. Jinwoo wonders if his uncle’s crying. He finds to his surprise that he honestly doesn’t care. And that’s not like him; Jinwoo’s not a heartless person. But any familial affection he once might have felt for the man had dwindled into nothingness the moment he’d seen the marks on Sanha’s face. If anything, JinJin pities him. Not for the death of his wife or his apparent alcohol dependency, but because his uncle will never have the chance to truly understand how it feels to love Sanha for the sweet, brilliant, kind-hearted kid that he is.  

And that’s his loss.

 _“I still want to talk to him,”_ his uncle states quietly, after another lengthy pause. _“But I suppose it can wait until…until he’s ready to see me. I’ll speak to my lawyer in the morning about the process of appointing temporary co-guardianship. Look, I’m not making any promises, understand? But I’ll think about it. For Sanha’s sake.”_

Slowly, the younger man unclenches his fist, his tightened muscles gradually uncoiling.

“Thank you,” he murmurs sincerely.

_“And Jinwoo?”_

He tenses again, half-expecting another confrontation. “Yes?”

 _“I…when you see Sanha,”_ the man says hesitantly, _“tell him I’m sorry.”_

The call ends abruptly, leaving Jinwoo alone in the silence of the bedroom, blood still pulsing loudly in his ears, his breathing still faintly laboured as he feels the defensive tension slowly bleed from his posture.

Aish, that was _rough._

“Is it true?”

Startled, Jinwoo whirls on his heel, finding Myungjun frozen in the doorway, a hand clutching at the collar of his sweatshirt, eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears, his chin wobbling ever so slightly. Alarmed, JinJin closes the distance between them, pulling the older boy into his arms.

Fuck, how much had MJ heard? How long had he been standing there while JinJin’s back was turned?

“What you said before,” Myungjun presses shakily, clutching tightly onto Jinwoo’s shoulders as he searches his expression. “About your uncle getting drunk and beating the shit out of Sanha. Is that what happened? Is that why he ran away from home? All those cuts and bruises, are they from…?”

His throat too tight to speak in the face of his boyfriend’s tears, Jinwoo simply nods, leaning forwards to gently rest his forehead against MJ’s, closing his eyes against the burning sensation that’s growing there.

The artist exhales shakily, and for a few long minutes they just hold each other, both aching with shared grief and guilt for the boy they’d helped raise but hadn’t been able to protect.

“We’re keeping him,” the elder boy murmurs after a while. “Promise me, JinJin; whatever happens, we’re not letting him go back to his father.”

Jinwoo pulls him closer still, resting his cheek against MJ’s soft hair. “I promise.”

A quiet tap on the door has them both glancing up, finding a serious-faced Dongmin standing at the threshold to the room, his eyes filled with quiet understanding. Jinwoo flinches internally, realising that with the door left wide open in the wake of MJ’s arrival, his one-sided conversation was probably heard loud and clear by the rest of their friends. Voices tended to carry a lot in the apartment, which was why they inevitably ended up with noise complaints from the neighbours after Games Night.

“How much did you hear?” he asks quietly.

Dongmin winces a little. “Enough. But for what it’s worth, hyung, we’re all on your side. And if you need any help figuring out the legalities of co-guardianship, you know where to find me.”

Huh. Sometimes having a smartypants law student as one of your best friends comes in handy.

“Thank you.” Jinwoo’s smile is tired but filled with genuine gratitude as he moves away from MJ, crossing over to the younger man. “Still, I’m sorry the rest of you had to hear that. How’s Sanha holding up?”

He doubts the teen’s going to be happy with him, given that he’d sworn to keep it a secret. But a firm conversation with Sanha’s father had always been looming on the horizon; pretty much a certified necessity from the moment his cousin first arrived in Seoul bruised and frightened, in need of a safe place to stay. It’s just a pity it had to happen tonight, when Sanha finally seemed to be settling comfortably into his new living arrangements.

“Don’t freak out,” Dongmin placates, raising his hands in a calming gesture.

Jinwoo is immediately on full-alert. “Why?” he drawls suspiciously. “What's going on? Where’s Sanha?”

The model’s wince intensifies. “He...he ran off about halfway through your conversation.”

“He _what?_ ” Myungjun yelps. “And you just _let him?!”_

“Hey, hey, Rocky and Moonbin went after him,” Dongmin soothes, catching hold of Jinwoo’s arm when the older boy attempts to move past him. “Hyung, wait. Just give him time to cool off. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

JinJin shakes his head, taking another stop towards the door. “I need to make sure he’s safe.”

“He’ll be fine,” Dongmin reassures softly, using both hands now to force Jinwoo to halt. “I know you’re worried about him, but what Sanha needs right now is _space_. Let him calm down and think things through for a little while. Binnie won’t let anything happen to him, you know that. And Minhyuk’s a good listener. They’ll look after him. If you run after him in this state, the only thing you’ll do is pour oil on a burning fire.”

Raking a hand through his hair stressfully, JinJin huffs out a sigh. “Aish, I hate it when you speak in metaphors. Especially when you’re right.” He glances down at his watch. “If they’re not back in an hour, we’re going out to find them. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Dongmin pats his shoulder comfortingly. “Now come and sit down, I’ll make us some tea.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

**_Come find me on[Tumblr](https://crooked-inkwell.tumblr.com/)! :)_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Sanha will be okay, please don't hate me! D:
> 
> It was a conversation that needed to happen, and although Sanha getting upset was inevitable, he's got a new family of protective brothers who'll help to cheer him up now. And he'll be able to settle into his new life with JinJin and the others without the uncertainty of his possibly-temporary living arrangements hanging over him 24/7. It'll be a weight off his shoulders, that's for sure. 
> 
> Socky bonding in the next chapter, but Minhyuk is taking to his role as hyung like a duck to water. (Also Sanha is wearing a ducky sweater, and he finds it cute. <3 )
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D xxx


	7. Cold Hands, Warm Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocky and Sanha talk.

.

Minhyuk tugs the cuffs of his sweater over his cold hands, protecting them from the icy bite of the swing’s metal chains.

The playground’s looking pretty eerie at this time of night, the dim yellow glow from the nearby streetlamp shining between the branches of the leafless trees to cast shadows all about them. If Minhyuk shared Dongmin’s fear of anything and everything remotely creepy, he’d probably find it a little unsettling – luckily for him, he’s not a wimp.

He is, however, _really fucking cold._

“Hey, it’s getting pretty chilly out here,” he comments quietly, casting a sideways glance at the teenager occupying the swing a few feet away from him. “The weather app says it’s supposed to snow overnight, we should probably head back before it starts.”

Sanha gives a shallow little nod, lightly pushing off from the ground with the balls of his feet to propel himself backwards in a half-hearted swing. Despite getting a response, Minhyuk suspects that the younger teenager hasn’t actually heard him – Sanha’s still got that faraway look in his eyes, his expression a queer sort of melancholy _blankness_ that doesn’t seem to sit right on his youthful face at all.

Pulling himself to his feet with a quiet sigh, Minhyuk moves to stand behind neighbouring swing, gently catching hold of the chains to halt its momentum.

“We can’t stay in the park all night, Sanha,” he reminds the younger boy, keeping his voice hushed – with the two of them being the sole occupants of the playground, there’s no need to speak any louder. “The others are gonna start to worry if we’re not back soon.”

He carefully leaves out the fact that Moonbin’s has been keeping an eye on them from the internet café across the road since the moment they first got here – the older dancer had enough sense to give Sanha some space and observe from a distance, but then there’s only so long he’s going to let the two teenagers sit out here in the cold before he inevitably intervenes. Minhyuk really doesn’t want to physically _drag_ Sanha from the park, but that’s what it’ll come down to if he refuses to leave of his own volition; Jinwoo would never forgive him if he went and let the kid develop hypothermia or something.

“I’m sorry.”

Sanha’s voice is so soft that Minhyuk barely catches the words, his hands falling from the chains to settle on the teenager’s shoulders instead.

“For what?”

There’s a quiet sniffle, and Minhyuk realises with a twinge of discomfort that Sanha’s crying, the shoulders beneath his hands trembling ever so slightly.

“I shouldn’t have run away,” the younger boy murmurs tremulously.

Rocky squeezes the back of the kid’s neck comfortingly. “You were upset. Jinwoo-hyung and the others aren’t gonna hold it against you-”

“I should’ve just stayed in Pyeongchan-gun,” the teenager continues bitterly, almost as though he hasn’t heard the other. “If I hadn’t run away in the first place, _none_ of this would’ve happened.”

Minhyuk feels his insides freeze, and it has little to do with the nippy winter evening.

“I never meant to tell JinJin-hyung the truth,” Sanha confesses in a voice that’s thick with tears, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the dirt. “I knew this would happen. I _knew_ he’d get upset and feel responsible, he’s always been that way, and now he feels like he needs to fight for me. If I just hadn’t called him the other night…but now everything’s such a _mess._ And what’s worse, I’m dragging you and all the other hyungs into it too. I should’ve just stayed at home.”

A long beat of silence passes between them, broken only by the faint rasping of metal-on-metal as Rocky’s vacated swing continues to sway gently to and fro, blown by the bracing December wind. Minhyuk can’t even feel the cold anymore; there’s a boiling pressure welling up inside of him, making him numb to the biting breeze.

“Don’t you _ever_ say that again.”

Sanha tenses beneath his hands, and slowly cranes his neck around to peer back over his shoulder, eyes damp and overbright in the light of the streetlamp, his brow faintly creased in perplexity.

In a sudden burst of movement Minhyuk moves around the swing to stand directly in front of the teenager, gripping the cold metal chains a hairsbreadth above where Sanha’s hands are resting, leaning down until their heads are on a level.

“Do you honestly believe Jin-hyung was arguing with your dad on the phone back there just because he feels _responsible?”_ Rocky presses, careful to keep his voice even (ignoring the part of him that wants to give the clueless kid a good, hard shake). “He’s doing it because he _loves you,_ stupid. And quit beating yourself up about involving the rest of us; we’re in this by choice. And it’s not just because your Jinwoo-hyung’s cousin, it’s ‘cause you’re a good kid and we wanna help protect you.”

He leans in closer, until there’s only an inch or so between them. Even in the dim lighting, the fading bruises around Sanha’s eye and the healing scrape along his temple stand out starkly against his pale skin. Minhyuk grips the swing’s chains a little tighter.

“Your old home wasn’t _safe_ anymore,” he states quietly. “I can’t pretend to understand everything you’ve been through, but I do know that much. And none of us are willing to let you go back to that, not if we can help it.”

Sanha stares up at him speechlessly for a long moment, before dropping his gaze, lips pressed together in a thin line and chin quivering ever so slightly. Minhyuk’s chest hurts as he slowly straightens up, his fingers frozen stiff and quickly growing painfully cramped as he maintains his hold on the cold metal chains to keep from throwing his arms around the silent teenager in front of him. Sanha probably needs time to process everything, the kid’s not going to want-

Oh.

He’s being hugged.

Sanha’s got his gangly arms wrapped around Minhyuk’s midsection, face buried in the front of his sweater. Moving on auto-pilot, he lets go of the swing to settle his own arms around the kid’s narrow shoulders, careful to tuck the sleeve of his sweatshirt over his icy-cold hand as he rests it comfortingly over the teen’s nape.

“Thank you,” comes a muffled voice from somewhere near his sternum.

Minhyuk just hugs him tighter, finding the December wind significantly less bothersome with his arms now suitably occupied.

He can’t say for sure how long they stay that way, but eventually he becomes aware of quiet footsteps approaching them slowly from across the empty park. Turning his head enough to glance in the direction of the sound, he relaxes a fraction, recognising the broad frame of the shadowy figure ducking beneath the rope-net on the climbing frame as he makes a shortcut towards them.

Moonbin vaults effortlessly over the little painted fence that separates the swings from the rest of the playground (the gate is literally _right there,_ but then Binnie’s always been extra, so it’s not unexpected), coming to stand a few feet away from the pair, shoving his hands into the pockets of his thin jacket.

“Hey,” the man greets, his voice soft and apologetic. “It’s getting late, guys. We probably shouldn’t stay out much longer.”

Minhyuk nods, smoothing down the teenager’s pastel-pink hair as the kid stirs in his arms. After a moment he relinquishes his hold on the kid and takes a step backwards, Sanha’s arms falling from around his middle. Rocky ignores the momentary (utterly illogical) pang of loss he feels at their sudden absence and takes a deep, bolstering breath. Pasting an easy smile in place, he holds out his hand towards the younger teen.

“Come on, San,” Minhyuk coaxes. “Let’s go home.”

Sanha stares at the appendage for a long beat, almost like he’s never seen a hand before, slowly following the line of Minhyuk’s arm upwards until he’s holding the older boy’s gaze. After another moment of hesitation, he finally slips his own ice-cold hand into Rocky’s, a tentative little smile curling shyly at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he acknowledges softly. “Okay, hyung.”

 

And if the kid proceeds to hold his hand for the entire duration of the walk home, right up until the moment they safely reach the door to the apartment? Minhyuk finds he doesn’t mind one bit.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter than I'd anticipated, but I felt adding another scene would detract from the Socky fluff in the first part. And me needs me some Socky fluff today. :D
> 
> Thank you for continuing to support this story despite my terribly slow updates. Bless you all. <3
> 
> Also for those who maybe haven't had a chance to hear it, JinJin recently released a solo rap song as part of Fantagio's monthly digital project. You can check out "Like A King" here on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UKbwc8lCt6k
> 
> xxx


	8. New Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanha's quickly settling into his home in Seoul with JinJin and the others, but MJ wants to make sure the kid has every opportunity to lead the life he wants.

.

“Hey, hyung.”

Myungjun startles, clutching a hand to his chest and bracing the other against the living room doorjamb as he recovers from his minor heart attack.

“Ai, Yoon Sanha,” he breathes, perhaps exaggerating his condition just a _little_ bit. “Don’t do that to me, I have a weak heart.”

The teenager grins back at him unrepentantly from his cross-legged position on the couch nearby, circular-lensed reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and a large book and notepad resting open in his lap.

“How come you’re up so early?” MJ questions, crossing the room to perch on the arm of the couch. He pulls a face when he spies the content of the kid’s book. “You’re doing _math?_ At 6am? Aigoo, are you sick?”

Sanha laughs at the older boy’s dramatics and lightly knocks away the hand that MJ had pressed against his forehead.

“The entrance exam is only four days away,” Sanha explains, returning his attention to the text book.

The youth’s apparent dedication to his studies is commendable, and Myungjun doesn’t even try to suppress the proud smile that curls at his lips, leaning in to wrap an arm around the younger man’s shoulders in a side-hug. He can’t help but admire the teen’s self-discipline and drive; realistically, Sanha’s made a number of big, potentially life-changing decisions during this past week alone, and yet he’s taking it all in his stride. In the kid’s position, MJ’s certain he’d be sick with the stress of it.

Earlier last week (not long after the whole _phone call incident)_ , after several lengthy discussions with himself and Jinwoo, Sanha had decided that he would rather not go back to his old boarding school on the other side of the country. The three of them had then spent almost a full day looking through the online prospectuses of just about every decent high school in and around Seoul. Given Sanha’s pristine academic record, and with Mr Yoon willing to foot the bill for a private institute if necessary, there had been a lot of options available to him. The long list of potential facilities had actually been pretty intimidating, even after they’d used a pros-and-cons method to cut that number down by a half.

Still, Sanha had been quick to make up his mind – surprisingly so, actually. And to be honest, _Hanlim School of Art and Entertainment_ hadn’t been the choice any of them had been expecting.

“I know the pass mark’s supposed to be pretty low compared to the other academies,” Sanha continues optimistically. “But there’s no harm in making a good first impression, right?”

“Right.” Myungjun ruffles the kid’s hair, his smile softening. “You sure do seem to have your heart set on _Hanlim._ ”

Sanha shrugs. “Minhyuk-hyung goes there too.”

Ah. So _that’s_ why the teen had been so quick to choose _Hanlim_ out of all the other potential academies.

Myungjun doesn’t know what exactly had gone on between the two teenagers the other night, when Minhyuk and Moonbin had gone racing off after Sanha following the _phone call incident,_ but the time they’d spent outside in the cold had clearly brought them closer together. Other than Christmas Day itself, Minhyuk has spent pretty much all of his free time hanging out with Sanha, playing video games or dragging the younger teenager around Seoul to visit its many attractions. MJ’s never known Minhyuk to be so openly _sociable_ with someone he’s only known for just over a week – the dude’s loyal and dependable (they don’t call him _Rocky_ just because of his muscle definition), but it usually takes him a while to warm up to strangers and let down his guard enough to laugh and tease and play. With Sanha, that transition from acquaintance to apparent BFF had been almost immediate.

Still, MJ’s grateful for it; this past week, Sanha has finally gone back to being his usual cheerful, bubbly self and it’s pretty obvious that it has a lot to do with his newly-formed friendship.

“Besides, it has a really good music department,” Sanha adds. “Like, one of the _best_ in Seoul. They have their own YouTube channel for student performances. They’re supposed to have great vocal coaches too, but you need to audition for the perfromance program.” He suddenly closes his math textbook with a snap, looking uncharacteristically pensive. “Crap. I really need to practice.”

“You’re going to audition?” MJ asks, surprised. That’s the first time he’s heard about it. Sanha’s love of all things music is no secret, but he’s yet to actually _play_ in front of any of them. “Dumb-dumb, why didn’t you say something sooner? You can practice in the apartment as much as you want to, we don’t mind. As long as it’s not so late as to bother the neighbours or anything.”

Sanha looks slightly abashed, thumb clicking at his pen in a nervous habit.

“I can’t,” he admits. “Not yet. I’m okay performing in front of strangers, but I get kinda…nervous, at least in front of people I know. I even used to wait until my roommate stepped outside before I’d practice in my dorm back at school. “He rubs the back of his neck, his skin flushing a dull pink. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“No it’s not,” MJ reassures, squeezing the kid’s shoulder. “You don’t have to play for us if you don’t want to. But I wish you would’ve said something sooner, now you’ve only got a few days left to find somewhere to practice.”

“That’s okay.” The teenager shrugs, unconcerned. “I can just go sit in the park or something.”

Myungjun looks at him incredulously. “Do you want to freeze your talented little fingers off? Aish. It’s the middle of winter, stupid.” A sudden thought occurs to him and he grins secretively. “Wait. I have an idea.”

The younger man regards him warily. “Oh?”

“Never mind, I’ll explain on the way,” MJ tells him, glancing briefly at his watch. “Aish, I’m gonna be late. Hurry up and get dressed, okay? You can hang out with me at the café while you wait.”

“Wait for _what?”_

MJ flaps his hands to shoo away the teen. “No time! Hurry, hurry!”

Still looking perplexed but proceding as instructed nevertheless, Sanha sets his books aside and pushes himself up from the couch, heading for the door, likely in the direction of his new bedroom.

MJ and the others had finished clearing out Moonbin’s old room last week (the dancer always sleeps in Dongmin’s bed anyway, it was only really being kept for storage purposes), so Sanha’s been using it as his own since Christmas, slowly filling it with the various belongings that had arrived in boxes via courier-van a few days ago, sent by his father on Jinwoo’s request (because Sanha had looked so genuinely stricken at the thought of returning home to collect his things that they’d decided to scrap that plan right from the get-go). The Pokémon quilt has vacated the living room couch to take up residence on the teenager’s new bed, and has now been joined by an impressive array of cute plushies that Sanha and Moonbin had won from various claw-machine games at the arcade earlier in the week.

“Don’t forget to bring you guitar,” MJ calls after him, pulling his phone from his pocket to send a quick apology-text to Seokjin, explaining why he’s going to be running a few minutes behind schedule.

He’s fairly sure his co-worker won’t mind. With Sanha and Minhyuk having become inseparable BFFs (or so it seems), the pink-haired teen has been spending a lot of time hanging out at _Fantagio_ during the older boy’s shifts. And Sanha being the sweet-natured dove that he is, most days he inevitably ends up cleaning tables and helping out with odd-jobs around the café, even occasionally picking up the slack during the lunchtime rush when they’re short-staffed. He’s become such a familiar face at the café this past week, the regular team have already begun referring to him as the maknae.

Myungjun suspects that Jin’s actually going to offer the kid a part-time job once he’s settled into his new school.  Either that, or just flat-out _adopt_ him; Sanha tends to have that effect on people.

Which is why MJ’s confident that Namjoon won’t mind giving the teenager short-term access to one of his practice booths in the basement level of _BigHit Records_. Yoongi might be a little bit harder to persuade (the underground rapper-stroke-producer really isn’t a morning person), but one of Myungjun’s triple-seven lattes ought to do the trick; a little caffeine goes a long why. Besides, MJ happens to know that Yoongi actually has a _weakness_ for cute things (although he’s been sworn to silence on pain of death).

Chances are, Sanha’s going to have Min Yoongi wrapped around his little finger by the end of the day.

 

 

…

 

 

 

* * *

 

**_Come say hi to me on[Tumblr](https://crooked-inkwell.tumblr.com/)! _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about this story. I have WAY too much love in my heart for BTS/Astro interactions to simply let this one go.
> 
> Oh and by the way ASTRO ARE HAVING A COMEBACK AT THE END OF JULY, I AM LIVING!!!
> 
> That is all. :) xxxx


	9. When All Else Fails, Eat Cake

 

.

 

“Really? For breakfast?”

Jinwoo squints tiredly at Moonbin over his giant rainbow cupcake, pulling the plate a little closer to himself across the counter before the younger man can try and swap it out for one of his blended-veggie concoctions from the Healthy Choices menu.

“I’m stress-eating, don’t judge me,” he mumbles, scooping up a huge glob of colour-streaked frosting and dislodging a minor avalanche of edible glitter and sprinkles in the process (clearly MJ was allowed to be an _assistant_ in the kitchens this morning).

Moonbin’s expression of mild disdain morphs into one of surprise, and he pauses in the tying of his _Fantagio Café_ apron to study the blonde for a long moment, before moving to lean in closer, lowering his voice a little to keep the other café patrons from overhearing.

“What’s wrong?” Bin asks with genuine concern. “Did Sanha’s dad contact you again? Do you need to take the day off? I can cover for you at the studio if-”

Touched that Moonbin would be so worried on his behalf, and feeling just a teensy bit guilty for misleading him, JinJin quickly lifts a hand to halt the dancer mid-sentence, smiling apologetically.

“I’m fine,” he promises, and gives the younger man an easy grin when Moonbin arches a doubtful eyebrow. “Seriously, I’m good, I was just being dramatic. I’m not really stress-eating.”

“Keep telling yourself that, boo-bear,” Myungjun simpers on his way past, carrying a tray of hot breakfast goods from the kitchens. He sends Moonbin a wink. “Seokjin-hyung told him he’s not allowed to bother Sanha at the studio; he’s sulking.”

JinJin skewers a rainbow jelly on the prongs of his fork. “It’s not like I’m gonna stick around and bother him. I just wanna make sure the kid’s doing okay; maybe bring him a snack or something, you know?”

“He’s nervous about the rest of us hearing him play,” MJ reminds him, gentling a little at Jinwoo’s deliberate pout _(hah, still got it)._ “I promised him we wouldn’t try to listen in until he was ready, and I always keep my promises. You’ll see him in a few hours. Now cheer up and finish your cupcake.”

As his boyfriend skips off to serve customers with his usual cheerful enthusiasm (JinJin’s never seen any other _Fantagio_ employee perfect the art of skipping with a fully-laden tray without upsetting any of its contents, but then MJ’s always been _extra_ in every way possible), Jinwoo sighs and takes another bite of his dessert.

He doesn’t want to admit that Moonbin’s right, but maybe eating the café’s sweetest cake for second-breakfast hadn’t been a good idea after all…it’s starting to make him feel a little _queasy._  

Or maybe that’s just the ball of concern that’s been steadily churning in his stomach ever since he got here an hour ago and discovered that his cousin wasn’t working in the café like he’d anticipated. If Sanha wasn’t in the apartment when JinJin woke up, he was inevitably fulfilling his usual morning role as MJ’s _“long-armed helper”_ (always beneficial whenever something needed fetching from ‘slightly-higher-than-average’ shelf down in the storerooms). This morning, however, he’d apparently been blessed with the opportunity to spend the day ensconced away in one of _BigHit’s_ recording booths, smuggled in at the screech of dawn by Seokjin so that he could start practicing before the studio officially opened. Jinwoo hadn’t even known that Sanha _needed_ to practice, but according to MJ the kid’s got his heart set on auditioning for his new school’s highly competitive music and performance programme.

Honestly, JinJin couldn’t be prouder, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t _worried_ about his cousin’s wellbeing behind the walls of _BigHit Records._ Unsupervised, probably feeling nervous as hell, surrounded by a ton of people he doesn’t know and who won’t know _him_ …and what if someone says something overly critical and smushes Sanha’s confidence?

Like, he has no concerns when it comes to the studio’s two CEOs – Namjoon’s great, the guy’s probably the nicest, calmest, coolest dude ever, and there’s no way he’d say a harsh word about Sanha’s music even if the kid does suck (and he might do, JinJin honestly doesn’t know any different because his cousin’s never played for him). Yoongi’s cool too…a little more _blunt_ and to-the-point than Namjoon, perhaps, but he wouldn’t say anything unnecessarily cruel to someone’s face unless they were being a dick. Although the ex-underground rapper can come across a little _grumpy_ to those who don’t know him better, and Sanha’s never met him before...

It’s cool. Yoongi never voluntarily interacts with people before midday anyway, the chances of him bumping into Sanha before then are pretty slim.

But there are a _lot_ of employees and artists who work and train at _BigHit_ now that the label is becoming more famous, and there’s always going to be a cross, middle-aged, egotistical douchebag who won’t hesitate to crush some kid’s dream with a thoughtless, offhand comment, and _that’s_ the type of person that JinJin wants to shield Sanha from. Which he can’t exactly do from inside of _Fantagio Café._

“Whoa, you really do stress-eat,” Moonbin remarks, audibly impressed, and JinJin blinks down at his empty plate in surprise.

Huh. He hadn’t even registered eating the rest of his dessert, but since the cake-fork is currently sticking out of his mouth, he can hardly deny the accusation.

“At least have some vitamins with your plate of frosting,” the younger dancer sighs, and slides a bowl of assorted chopped fruits across the countertop towards him. “I’ll have to start buying my own snacks if you die of malnutrition.”

“You do buy your own snacks, Binnie,” JinJin reminds him, popping a halved strawberry into his mouth. “You just choose to eat mine as well.”

Moonbin grins at him unapologetically. “Eh, you love me.”

The café door opens, a cold gust of wintry air blowing briefly towards the serving counter and barstool area, raising goosebumps on JinJin’s arms beneath his hoodie. He sees Moonbin pause in his rehearsed _Fantagio_ greeting to instead wave at the newcomer, and turns his head to see which of their friends has stopped by for their daily caffeine-and-sugar fix.

“Binnie, Jinnie,” Namjoon greets with a dimpled smile, unzipping his padded coat and tugging off his gloves as he glances around at the café area briefly. “Looks like a steady morning _._ Is Jin around?”

“He went to make an important call about ten minutes ago,” Moonbin answers, cleaning away JinJin’s plate and empty coffee cup. “I think he’s having trouble getting hold of that overseas YouTube artist who’s supposed to be performing tonight – I think their flight got delayed. Can I get you something? Supergreen smoothie? Banana muffin?”

“Just a coffee, thank you.” Namjoon leans against the barstool beside JinJin. “I should probably be watching my- _ooh,_ what are those?”

“Choco-bombs,” Rocky answers, sliding the tray neatly into place on the other side of the glass display cabinet of desserts. “They’re still in the experimental phase, but MJ-hyung really likes them.”

Jinwoo eyes the new creations with intrigue. Nearly perfectly cylindrical, they almost look like individual scoops of chocolate ice cream – they’re even sitting in the little cardboard tubs they serve takeout ice cream in. If JinJin hadn’t already practically inhaled a giant rainbow cupcake in a dangerously short period of time, it would be tempting…but he’s definitely all sugared-out at the moment.

Maybe in half an hour or so.

“Dude, MJ-hyung eats pickled mackerel out of the jar with a spoon,” Moonbin critiques flatly. “I thought we agreed not to consider him a reliable taste-tester?”

Minhyuk shrugs, unbothered. “Sanha wasn’t here, and you don’t eat desserts before midday because you think it makes your face look bloated. I was kinda running low on options.” He glances towards Namjoon and tilts his head. “Just FYI, the bomb’s core is pure chocolate-hazelnut ganache.”

“Sold.” Namjoon pushes a handful of bills towards Moonbin as the younger man finishes making his coffee. “Is it alright if I take two? Yoongi’s pretty fond of your sweets. Actually, make that three – a little birdy told me we have a visitor over at the studio today?”

Jinwoo glances up sharply from his choco-bomb scrutinising. “Wait, you mean you haven’t seen him yet?”

Namjoon shakes his head, warming his hands around the takeout coffee cup as Rocky quickly boxes up three of the desserts to go. “I’ve been in a meeting across town all morning, I haven’t had chance to stop by the office yet. Yoongi’s gonna give me hell for making him get up so early, but some things can’t be helped. I hope he hasn’t laid into anyone too hard – he’s not exactly a morning person.”

The CEO takes the paper bag of boxed goods from Minhyuk with a smile and a quick _thank you,_ raising his coffee cup to them in a brief salute as he heads for the door.

“Tell Jin I’ll stop by again for lunch. See you later!”

Jinwoo’s left staring after him in mild apprehension, that churning-feeling from before back with a vengeance.

There’s a soft _thunk_ as one of Rocky’s choco-bombs is set down on a plate and slid directly in front of him. Minhyuk holds out a cake fork pointedly.

“Sanha’s fine. Give me feedback.”

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

Min Yoongi isn’t a morning person.

Luckily that isn’t typically an issue, because as co-founder of _BigHit Records_ he’s always been very careful to schedule anything important (meetings, contract negotiations, studio recordings, etc) for the afternoon. And for those unavoidable early-bird appointments, some merciful deity has gifted him with a business partner and best friend like Kim Namjoon, who _never_ seems tired regardless of how late he stays up working on solo projects.

Occasionally, best laid plans go to _shit_ and he has to play CEO while Namjoon’s away on business, dragging himself out of bed at the screech of dawn and hoping the clothes he’d picked out for himself the night before (or rather, three hours ago before he went to bed) are actually presentable and not something from a stylist’s worst nightmare. Sometimes Yoongi makes questionable choices when he’s tired, but despite his general air of unbotheredness, he _does_ actually have a reputation to maintain as somebody who’s fairly organised and well put-together (at least on the surface).

It’s a little after half past eight when Yoongi trudges slowly into the building (it’s far too fucking early, especially considering he only went to bed at 4am), waving a tired hello to the employees on the shop floor, who quickly pause in their album-restocking to bow to him in greeting.

Most of the ground floor if _BigHit Records_ had been converted into a music store last year, with a spacious backroom sectioned off and reserved for album signings and press interviews for the various solo artists who’ve signed on in recent months. That’s really the least of the remodelling they’ve done since buying the place. The whole basement had been gutted revamped into a dance studio shortly after he and Namjoon had first purchased the building, giving birth to Hoseok’s dance company _(Bangtan Studios)_ , which had initially started out as a small group of passionate dancers who would occasionally their performances online, before growing big enough to take over half of the adjacent building as well, gaining fame far more quickly than _BigHit._ The original BTS crew (J-Hope, JinJin, Rocky, Jungkook, Moonbin, Jimin, Ten, Yugyeom) still use the basement level for practice most evenings, but a lot of them also teach classes at Hoseok’s studio next door, or go elsewhere during the day to choreograph professionally for groups and solo artists in the industry.

Yoongi uses his access card to swipe through the security door at the back of the store, taking another gulp of coffee from his thermos as he heads upstairs.

“Morning, boss!” one of his production assistants calls, passing him by on the stairs.

Nodding politely, but internally wincing at the man’s volume (Johnny’s a great guy, but he does tend to _shout_ a lot), Yoongi mumbles a greeting in return.

“Hey, that new kid of yours? He’s got some pretty sweet vocals,” the American remarks on his way downstairs. “We should totally submit an audition tape for _I Can See Your Voice,_ it’d be a great way to kickstart his career before he officially debuts.”

The rapper pauses, liquid caffeine finally working its magic enough for him to figure out that he has _absolutely no idea_ what his colleague is talking about.

“New kid?”

The only artists the company has recently signed contracts with have been a couple of underground rappers that he and Namjoon have befriended and casually worked with over the years, and a few of the more experienced singers from _Fantagio Café_ who have expressed an interest in writing and releasing their own songs after gaining popularity on _YouTube_. None of them had looked young enough to be called _kids,_ though – and certainly not by Johnny, who’s barely twenty-three himself.

“Cute, pink hair, about yay-high,” Johnny provides, and holds a hand at a level with his own head. (A _tall_ kid, then.) “Seokjin-ssi asked me to keep an eye on him until Joon-hyung gets back from _SM_. I’ve set him up in practice room three. Catch you later!”

Curiosity piqued, Yoongi heads up another flight of stairs to the third floor ( _ugh,_ they need to get a goddamn elevator installed already, he’s too old for this shit) which houses a number of solo practice booths and a bunch of offices off to the left. The building’s main recording studios are also located on this floor to the right, along with Yoongi’s private studio (hence the need for an elevator before he _dies)_ , and to be honest it’s rare that the rapper makes a left turn at the top of the stairs.

Practice room three isn’t as well soundproofed as some of the other booths, and as Yoongi approaches he can already make out the strum of an acoustic guitar.

The kid doesn’t sound half-bad. Surely it can’t hurt to stay and listen for a few minutes; the emails can wait.

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

Spotting a familiar flash of pale-pink hair, Myungjun grins.

“Good timing,” he calls cheerfully as the café door swings closed. “JinJin’s about ready to start organising a full-scale search and rescue. Seungcheol’s been distracting him with puppy videos, but that’ll only work for so long.”

The teenager laughs, a light and bubbling sound, cheeks flushed as pink as his hair from the biting wind as he moves closer to hop up onto one of the stools at the serving counter, rubbing his cold hands together. MJ gives him a once-over and notices the one thing that’s clearly missing.

“Yah, where’s your coat?”

“Hm? Oh, I think I left it in Yoongi-hyung’s office,” Sanha answers distractedly, glancing around. “He’s gonna teach my about synthesizers later, after we take Holly for a walk. Did you know they make special little boots for tiny dog feet so they won’t get cold in the winter?”

Myungjun gives himself a mental pat on the back, and wishes JinJin were here so that he could pin his boyfriend with the smuggest _I told you so_ look in his repertoire of facial expressions. He’d known from the start this would be the probable outcome all along; despite Min Yoongi’s cool exterior, the man had a weakness for cute things (like his fluffy little pooch who slept in a basket under the man’s desk), and Sanha’s clearly managed to wangle his way into the man’s affections in a matter of hours just as he had done with the rest of MJ’s friends since _forever_.

“I’m sure JinJin’s probably mentioned it and cried over it at some point,” MJ answers, sliding a menu in front of Sanha and tapping it when the teenager continues glancing around. “Pick out what you’d like to eat before you get any skinnier, beanpole. And if you’re looking for Rocky, I’m afraid you’re gonna get a sore neck – he’s helping Jungkook teach a class for the next forty minutes.”

Sanha’s expression falls fractionally, but he recovers in the blink of an eye, picking up the menu to peruse it eagerly.

“Hey, you’re back!”

Jinwoo appears beside his cousin, slinging an arm around the kid’s shoulders in a casual sideways hug.

“Figured you’d be getting hungry by now,” the dancer comments, and MJ sends his boyfriend a knowing look as he cleans up the coffee station. “So, how’d it go? Did you have fun?”

As Sanha nods enthusiastically and launches into cheerful account of his morning spent hanging out with _BigHit’s_ CEOs and touring the studio and petting Min Holly (this of course being the one activity about which JinJin appears most noticeably envious), MJ pulls his cell phone from his back pocket and sends a quick text to Seokjin.

_Sounds like Sanha’s just been officially adopted as Holly’s older sibling._

He only has to wait a few moments for the older man’s reply.

_Mission accomplished._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a new chapter emerges! *fireworks*
> 
> I'm so sorry about the long wait everyone, I've been super busy with work and real life commitments (and now that the light levels are changing my brain is even less cooperative than it was previously, yay Autumn Syndrome!), but thank you for your ongoing support and kind messages on Tumblr. i definitely haven't forgotten this story and I'm keen to continue.
> 
> I also want to write a My ID Is Gangnam Beauty AU because EUNWOO YOU DID SO GOOD BAE, but I'm not letting myself pick up any new projects until I've actually finished my current ones. However much I'm itching to write some Binwoo romance. <3
> 
> If anyone is still reading, I love you! :) <3 xxxx


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